Monsters: An AU - Ghost
by twoscarypandas
Summary: It all begins with a murder. But while some look for the one who pulled the trigger, others take advantage of the chaos. In a city where it's drugs vs. guns vs. cops, one thing is certain: no one is safe. Part 1 of a completed series. Multiple pairings. Dark, human AU.
1. Prologue: Somewhere in America

Panda N: Greetings, Hetalians. What you are about to read represents the culmination of our best work so far.

PandaG: Welcome to the Monstersverse. _Ghost_ is Part 1 of an epic Hetalia series, which takes place in a human alternate universe.

Panda N: **FAIR WARNING, Y'ALL**: It involves sex, violence, drugs, and all that other stuff kids aren't supposed to read about- the version on has been parred down to meet with FF's guidelines. You can find the full version on AO3, and some extras on our **Tumblr**.

PandaG: You can find links to all of these on our profile - including a YouTube trailer!  
**A note on names** - Because everyone in this 'verse is human, we are using the canon/popular fanon human names for the characters, and created names for those who do not have one. These include:

Holly Nethers - Netherlands/Holland  
Bella - Belguim  
Hans - Germania

If you get confused, check out tumblr! We'll be posting a handy character chart soon.

Panda N: As you can see- this story comes with all the bells and whistles. We hope you enjoy the adventure.

Disclaimer: We do not own Hetalia.

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Prologue: Somewhere in America

The night is cool and crisp - it feels like rain, though there is none. But the bar is hot and packed with people. Many of them are unfamiliar faces; there's been a surplus of those. Ever since Ivan Braginski, known in most circles as Ivan the Terrible, began frequenting the Silver Stein it felt like the faces Toris was used to had been appearing less and less, replaced by the rougher, meaner faces of strangers.

He wipes down a puddle of spilled beer, peering over in the direction of that smoky corner. Ivan does not smoke, but he has many associates who do. And they are all thirsty. He takes his tray in hand, glancing at his cellphone as it flashes. He'll get it in a moment, he promises himself. These gentlemen are not the kind one keeps waiting.

From his office in the back, Hans can hear the packed house. Such a racket used to make him happy. But tonight it does not; not for the last month, in fact. Too many thugs, too many angry faces hanging around his bar. He misses the days when they stayed north of here, contained, allowing the customers who brought no (well, less) trouble to come. He peeks out the door and sees some of them gathered at the bar. Poor Toris is rushed off his feet with drink orders, and the men eye the bartender's form like he's on the top shelf. "Do you need a hand out there? I can come out in a moment."

"I- I'm okay!" Toris calls to his boss, hefting the tray into his arms and heading out to the tables. Serving drinks is as natural as anything else now. Even such a heavy tray is no real struggle. It's just the presence in the back corner that gives him a bad feeling in the center of his gut.

Tucking a strand of long grey hair behind his ear, Hans watches Toris go. Despite Toris' reassurances, he gives up on his accounts and heads for the bar. They may _just_ be able to keep the place another month, if he doesn't pay himself. Toris can't work for free anymore – not with his boyfriend so sick. He's been getting enough in tips to cover medicine, and Hans has been letting him take food home, but bar food can't sustain a man for three meals a day. "Who ordered beer?" Hans starts filling steins as fast as they fly toward him.

From his table in the back corner, Ivan grins at Toris, teeth showing as he beckons him a little closer. He takes the drinks out of the bartender's hands and begins passing them to his associates, just so there's an excuse to keep the man there for another moment. Toris is pretty: moss green eyes, long brown hair tied back out of his face, showing off soft features. Ivan's hand slides easily against the other's fingers as he reaches for his drink - vodka. Straight, no ice. "Good evening, Toris? Many customers tonight. Is good for business."

"Yeah..." Toris trails off, looking at the bar – anywhere but Ivan. The man constantly looks at him like he wants to tear off his clothes and pull him into his lap, and Toris hates the way his blood hums at that thought. But Ivan is a nasty man to tangle with – not one he'd ever want to piss off. "More than we should be getting on a Sunday."

Natalia, a pretty girl with long, pale blonde hair and ice for eyes, clings to her brother's arm and _glares_ at the waiter. She hates him. She hates the way Ivan looks at him, the way Ivan makes every effort to talk to the boy, to be around him. She would kill him, only that would make her brother angry. You'd have to be stupid to make Ivan angry on purpose. "Don't you have work to do?"

Ivan pulls away from her, uncomfortable. "Natalia, enough." Toris is already taking that as an excuse to leave, but he catches his apron. "Tell Hans I will pay him double what I offered last time," says Ivan. "He will listen to you. Is ten times more than this place is worth; he knows that. You will still have a job; _better_ job. I will pay you very well."

Toris' attention is pulled to the young lady constantly with Ivan, her eyes narrowed on his face. He blushes a little. It's Ivan's sister; he was told the first time they came. Though sometimes she acts as though they are lovers, they are clearly not. His eyes flick to Ivan's face and for a second his breathing stutters. Ivan _is_ attractive, for a very dangerous man.

"Yeah." He sets Natalia's drink down, refusing to let himself meet Ivan's eyes. "I will." He won't. But as long as Ivan thinks he'll do it, he'll be alive.

XXX

Not too far away, three men collapse in a bed on the third floor of the Rainbow Hotel and Spa, half dead from the bliss of completing the oft imagined, rarely attempted Eiffel Tower. At the Rainbow, however, it is not an unusual feat to perform not only the Eiffel Tower, but the Reverse Eiffel Tower. Their star employee had pioneered it. Said star employee – one Francis Bonnefoy – breathes in the scent of sex and incense, a combination only to be found in Kiku's room. Then he rolls over to offer their client and Kiku a kiss each.

"Oh, mes cheris, that was lovely." Francis speaks fluent French, though these days it is largely because his customers find it erotic. His mother was born in France, told him stories, showed him pictures. That was a long time ago. He has never been to France, though he has dreamed of it so many times he can walk the streets of Paris whenever he closes his eyes. Gilbert promised to take him there. The thought makes him smile a little, if bitterly. Gilbert is a damnable liar, and far from the first to make such stupid boasts while pulling off his clothes. Francis is a fool himself; he knows Gilbert is a liar, and loves him still, far more than he should.

Kiku sees the sad look cross Francis' eyes, the one that those who pay here will never notice. But his friends know it too well. He leans up and kisses him again, cuddling close to the man by his side so that the customer knows they are still there for him.

"My friend, always a pleasure." Kiku smiles, touching Francis' cheek and hoping to bring him back to himself. The Rainbow's employees promised to meet at the bar in the casino after all appointments had ended, but Francis will not go with them. He always stays longer with Gilbert – longer than he is paid to stay.

Francis smiles for real in return - or at least, as real as any of them ever do. Kiku understands more than most, perhaps. He has a lover of his own; a real one, who does not pay because Kiku will not let him. Heracles brings flowers instead. There are live orchids in the corner, and Kiku tends to them with a tenderness most reserve for children.

Francis stretches, kissing their customer as he slides over him and out of the bed. His clothes are not hard to find. Nights with Kiku are always neat. He gives himself a once-over with one of the waiting towels, intent on a shower before his next appointment, then pulls on his pants.

"You must excuse me, my dear," he tells the john, leaning in close against his ear and running his fingers over the man's slick chest. "I hate to leave such an _impressive_ gentleman so soon, but I am afraid I have a guest I cannot keep waiting. I am sure Kiku can take care of you, non?"

Kiku cuddles in close, dragging his tongue over the shell of the customer's ear, making him groan and distracting him from the departing Francis. "I'm sure I can come up with a few things to keep him from missing you." He laughs a little, reaching over and smacking that all too tempting ass, leaning over just out of sight. Frances deserves a spanking sometimes. He hates to see him waste his nights with a man who cares very little for anyone but himself. "Have fun."

Francis chuckles, tugging on Kiku's hair so the customer has access to the pretty, pale expanse of his neck. "Not nearly so much fun as _you_ will have, I am sure!" A lie, or perhaps not. A platitude to keep the ustomer happy. He really shouldn't be leaving; Elizabeta, the Rainbow's Madame, would have his hide if it were not worth so very much. Gilbert pays well, anyway. He wonders if Toni will come along tonight, or wait until later. It's always more fun when all three of them are together; that way he doesn't feel guilty for loving them both.

He blows a kiss, shirt slung over his back, and shuts the door. Incense lingers in the hall, on his skin, Kiku's ghost following him as he makes his way down the line of rooms. He can hear Sesel's high-pitched, pretty moans from one room, and nods to Gupta as he passes with a blushing young thing. It's good business; that will make Liza happy, so perhaps she won't be too angry with him after all.

XXX

Around the corner at La Citta Fortunata (The Lucky City), the usual roughousing is just getting underway. But not between the customers. Like clockwork, every weekend night Heracles Karpusi and Sadik Adnan, the night bouncers, get into it over some stupid something or other. It's a routine you can set your watch by.

Gilbert "Awesomesauce" Beilschmidt (the nickname of his own invention) and his best friend, Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, breeze past them, heading toward the Rainbow. Gilbert sends the bouncers a cheerful wave they barely see. They are far too focused on yelling at each other to check IDs, let alone notice anyone leaving.

"-you're a fucking dumbass, that's why! I don't know why he puts up with you. He's probably just too polite to tell you to go away." Sadik pulls the hood of his green sweatshirt further down. It's a warm night for November, especially with the heat of La Citta at his back, but he's never without the hoodie or his white half-mask. Better not to let them see your face. If no one knows what you look like, no one can rat on you. Not that the cops around here care all that much. If they're not dirty, they're going to be.

"Oh, _I'M_ a dumbass?! You - _you're_ the one who's wasting all your fucking pay on booze! Or "freelancing" for that poisonous fucker down the street!" Hera hisses through his teeth, pissed off that Sadik would _dare_ insinuate that Kiku's just keeping him around out of pity. He narrows his eyes. "I wonder what Feliciano would think if he knew you were offering your special brand of tough guy to Ivan B.?"

Sadik glances around, making sure there are no little birds who might have heard _that_ particular bit. Feli is one of Gilbert's favorite puppies, and certainly one of the more dangerous members of La Citta's gang. A thing like that could leave him with a bloody smile and an extra hole between the eyes. The little Italian does not cut nearly as terrifying a figure as Gilbert himself, but Feli is not kind to those who spread their loyalties around. Sadik doesn't believe in loyalty like that. Whoever pays the most is the boss, be it Beilschmidt, Braginski, or Wang. It's a damn good thing Hera doesn't seem to know about that last one.

He can see Antonio and Gilbert still, about to round the corner. Thankfully, they're too far to hear and talking loudly about their favorite prostitute. Figures. He turns and slams Hera against the wall. "Shut up you little shit. You tryin' to get me killed? I swear, you open your mouth again, I'm going to make it so the Good Doctor has to wire it shut."

"Go ahead, asshole! You fucking _try_ it!" Hera pushes Sadik back, sending him stumbling a couple of feet away. Hera doesn't care if Gil shoots Sadik right between the eyes. He's tired of this asshole getting paid to do _shit_, while he _works_ and gets paid half as much. At least Feliciano likes him. That always bodes well. Word in the inner circle is if you can get the Italians on your side, you're set. "You think you're gonna last in this crew?! Fuck no! Might as well just jump over the fence so I'd have the fucking right to shoot you!"

Sadik snorts. "Oh yeah? You couldn't hit a goddamned corpse!" He pulls up his sweatshirt, hand going to his gun. Chances are they'll both pull them, then toss the weapons aside to go after each other with fists. Less messy. Much more fun. He almost grins. "Least I get my jobs from brains and brawn, not sucking cock. Why don't you go down and ask 'Liza to let you have a room? Then you could leave Kiku the fuck alone!"

The mention of Kiku's name sends Hera's blood boiling. "Bastard!" He throws his gun aside, running at the man with balled fists. The first punch he throws misses horribly, but the second at least clocks him in the side of the head. "I'll kill you!"

"Right on schedule." Holly mumbles to himself, rolling his eyes. He can hear them shouting insults even from his table in this little back alley, filled with dumpsters from the casino. It's no wonder kids can waltz right into the Casino and have a chat with the big boys. The dangerous ones. At least Gilbert doesn't talk the kids into working for him, unlike Ivan and Yao. But that's their business. His job is not to ask questions. What does he need to get involved for, anyway? There are plenty of junkies, always will be. As long as Yao Wang supplies, he'll deliver. Speaking of...he smirks as a familiar face steps into the alley, briefly lit by the casino's flashing lights. "Well, well. If it isn't the long arm of the law."

Just when Arthur thinks he's used to the jabs, someone gets him every time. He sneers at Holly, sick of it, and sick with need for supplies. There's a new drug on the street, one that's supposed to calm you down and lift you into a nice, easy place. He hasn't been sleeping well, and smoking a pipe just isn't doing it for him anymore. "Stuff it, ye." He's been living here for too long; his accent won't fade, but his patience definitely has. "Want my money or not?"

Holly chuckles. It's almost too easy to push Artie's buttons. "Your money is the only thing I like about you." He waits. He never reaches for his stash until he sees real money, and never hands over a fix until the cash is in his hand. He knows most of his usuals' preferences; they get hooked on one thing, and stick with it. Artie hops around, unsatisfied. He intends to see him satisfied, because a satisfied customer is a return customer. "What's your flavor?"

Arthur slides into the free chair and leans his elbows on the high top, slapping cash on the table. He's been paid very well this month. Not by his job of course, but by others. The ones who pay him to look certain ways, be it to the ground or to someone they'd like out of the way, no mess. "M'lookin' for that dreamer shitte. S'market price, yeah?" He shoves the money across the table.

Now _that_ is what Holly likes to see. He thumbs through it, fingering the bills and holding one up to the street light. Seems legit. He reaches for the stash, hidden behind him among the garbage bags that so rarely make it to the dumpster. It works out well for him; who would know one of those black sacks was filled with drugs? He pulls out a bottle of pills; there aren't many in it. The new stuff doesn't come cheap or easily, and he only just managed to convince Yao it was worth the trouble. It's a damn good thing he was right. Yao's got a thing for making sure you remember your mistakes. No one fucks up twice.

Holly holds out the bottle, shaking it so Arthur can see. "Shit'll get you there. For a while, anyway. You'll be back in time for uniform inspection. Or do they do it Spartan style now and strip you down? I hear your chief's got a rod pretty far up his ass."

"Ta', mate. You don't know the bloody half," Artie says, making conversation, because – to be fair – he's not blind and Holly is among the prettiest things he's ever seen in handcuffs. Fuck, he'd like to try _that_ some time. But it's bad form to arrest your best dealer.

The bottle is light, but that's fair. Man's gotta make a living, and from what Arthur hears, getting the doctor-grade shitte just got a lot harder. They have a maniac pulling the stuff out of hospitals now. "Guess management's switchin' up all over these days. You still bein' pushed around by the dragon boy?"

"Say that to his face and see what happens to you. Him and his whole fucking family are nuts." Holly shakes his head. Fucking is right; the man screws his own brother. Granted, the China Doll is damn pretty—one of the prettiest whores at the Rainbow. He certainly doesn't mind paying for a piece of that. "Anything else I can get you?" He looks around now. He can't have a cop, even a dirty one, hanging around too long. Scares away his customers.

Arthur rolls his eyes, shoving the bottle in his jacket pocket. "Yeah. A fuckin' lay. Where the fuck's Frannie been? Haven't been able to get an appointment in months, innit? S'he out of the game now?"

There's so much Holly could say to that, but he's eager to be rid of Artie now and doesn't feel like arguing. "You kidding? The man's got more addicts than I do. I swear he shoves crack up their asses or something. You won't get in with him tonight, anyway. Everyone knows Gilbert's got his name stamped across Frannie's ass on Sundays. It's like his fucking church. Toni, too. But there're plenty of other lovelies over there."

Arthur sighs, his mind sliding to Francis and his lovely ass. The man certainly is an addiction. Fucking him is the only thing he's ever found to calm his body to a good night's sleep. "Pass." He slides off his stool and heads out, freeing Holly up for his customers. He needs to find somebody to work him over, but he's starting to find that there are very few people who bring him that right bliss. Looks like he's in for a lonely night. Thank God for pills, legal or not.

XXX

Back at the bar, there is total chaos. Drinks are being flung left and right, and with the amount of people crushing the bartop, Toris is starting to feel claustrophobic. He doesn't worry, though. When Ivan's drinks slow down, he tends to get unhappy. When he gets unhappy, anyone who stands between him and his vodka better get out of the way.

In preparation, Toris makes him a vodka, straight up. Then after a moment of indecision, cuts a slice of green apple and garnishes the glass. A) So that he knows which one is for Ivan, and B)... He doesn't know. He kind of wanted to. Shaking off the odd feeling of _guilt_, he keeps slinging drinks, waiting for his unlikely hero to clear the bartop.

Meanwhile, Hans is on the phone in his office, the conversation getting more and more heated. It's his grandson Ludwig, and he sounds pissed. A little drunk, too. He is ranting in German, and for a minute Hans is so shocked at the sound of him _shouting_ that he doesn't know what Ludwig is saying at all. So he waits for him to stop, then tells him to speak slower – a direction Luddy ignores completely. But he can make out the name 'Feli,' which is never a good sign.

The vodka glass in Ivan's hand is empty. It has been a full fifteen minutes since it was refilled. He looks toward the bar and frowns. It's packed; poor Toris looks overwhelmed. A piece of hair is falling into his face; it makes Ivan want to pull it, just to see if Toris' screams are as pretty as he thinks they would be. Vodka. Definitely time for more vodka. He shoves his sister away and rises. Almost instantly, a path is cleared.

Toris sees him coming and at once takes a breath. Thank God. The glass with the green apple slice is shoved across the bartop at his approach, and he throws the rest of the orders - two beers and a gin and tonic - to their wary owners.

"_Smart boy,"_ thinks Ivan. Smart, useful, pretty. He _wants_ this one, and Ivan always gets what he wants, one way or another. He will use force if he has to, but he much prefers to find a weak point, a place where he can slip inside their heads and reach down until he can squeeze their very soul. It's only then that they are truly loyal – one with him, so to speak. He snaps the apple in half, offering one part, dipped in vodka, to Toris. "You look very tired, Toris. Is everything alright?"

The bartender looks down at the apple, staring at it between Ivan's fingers for a long, shaky moment. But he doesn't take it. He grips the beer in his hand, slotted for a patron at the end of the bar, and for the fortieth time this week wonders why Ivan had to take such an interest in _him_. His eyes flick to his phone as it buzzes; another message from home. Feliks. God, he misses him. Breathing in slowly, he looks back toward Ivan and finds himself shaken. His eyes are violet. Actually violet, like nothing he's ever seen. "I am tired. It's been a long night."

Ivan is disappointed, but Toris has given away plenty. He snaps the apple between his teeth, a sharp crunch. It's sweet; too sweet for him, but he smiles anyway. "Da, da. Longer when there is trouble at home." He shoots a meaningful look to Toris' phone, but ends by cocking his head toward the office where the old man is arguing in German.

Toris' jaw sets, and this time he keeps his gaze firmly fixed on Ivan's eyes. Violet or not, they are not going to fuck with him tonight. He has too much going on. He doesn't want any part of whatever Ivan's trying to do to him. "Trouble? Got trouble at home tonight, sir?" He pours him another, straight, no apple. Fuck whatever weird instincts are screwing with his brain.

There's a loud "FICK" from the back room. Hans is getting worried now; Gilbert's name was in there _with _Feli's. Ludwig sounds near livid, talking about Gil and Feli and something about pictures. He doesn't understand. He rubs a finger over his brow. "Luddy, Luddy, just calm down. Talk slow."

Ivan has one ear on that conversation, but the other is still on Toris. He's found a sore spot, that much is clear. That's all that matters. These things take time, and if things go the way he planned, he will have _plenty_ of time with this one. "I never have trouble I cannot take care of. Is your boss who sounds upset. He is getting old; he should take time off, enjoy life away from foolish grandchildren who do nothing but bicker, gamble, and fuck."

His gaze slides briefly to the large window by the door, looking out beyond the deck and across the street to the hotel and casino. He can see Gilbert and Antonio talking as they travel between the two. They bump fists once, and part ways. He swallows his vodka.

With another curse, Hans hangs up and heads for the door, not bothering with anything but his keys and his wallet. He needs to get to Ludwig before he does something rash. Something is very, very wrong tonight. "Hold down the bar until Bella gets here," he calls to Toris, not looking at his apparent conversation partner. He heads out the door, fast.

Toris nearly groans. Fuck. There goes any shot of getting out early tonight. He sighs, pouring Ivan another. The man can hold his booze and then some. "Yeah, boss," he calls back, glancing at his phone again. Feliks... He needs to get home to Feliks. But for now, he needs to deal with Ivan. "As I'm sure you know, getting away from your family is not so easy." He almost smirks at the jibe, but snuffs it in the last second. Natalia has been eyeing them for the last few minutes with disdain.

Luckily for Toris, Ivan barely hears the comment. He's watching through the window. Never one to waste an opportunity, he finishes his drink and throws down his tab, plus something for Toris. "Hold her down until I'm out of here." Pressing through the crowd, he makes it out the door before Natalia can so much as stand.

Toris sighs, watching the girl stand, furious. But he has a little pink drink waiting for her. "Compliments of your brother." He smiles, almost glad to say it, because Christ Almighty, even if he doesn't want to fuck Ivan, he doesn't want his sister to get there either. That's just... _wrong_. Luckily, she'll take anything that's a sign of her brother's affection with relish.

Natalia glowers at Toris and snatches the drink from him. Clearly Ivan is trying to make up for leaving so quickly. He does that often; most likely it is something for work. The man is married to his work; a shame, in her opinion, but she will do anything to see him succeed.

When he sees Bella fly through the door, perpetually late, Toris can't help but sigh with relief. He pulls off his apron as he gives her a rundown of the night, then heads around back to grab his phone from behind the bar. Thank God the night is _over_. He heads out the door as fast as he possibly can, but suddenly there's a loud, hard _crack!_ that makes him duck. Gunshot. Oh Shit. That was close, too. His mind flits to Ivan for but a second before he's _running_ home, hoping to get to his safe, happy corner of the world before he runs into something bad.


	2. Ch 1: Triple Homicide

Hello lovely readers! Once again, we're using canon/fanon names, but you'll see a new one in this chapter: **Roma Vargas/Old Roma - Ancient Rome**

Check out our **cover art on Tumblr** (twoscarypandas DOT tumblr DOT com)! There's more than one murderer in the midst - can you tell who?

**Chapter Summary:** Vosh introduces rookie cops Alfred and Matthew to the case that will change their lives.

Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia.

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Chapter 1: Triple Homicide

Alfred isn't shocked to be called in for a meeting with the chief. They have them almost daily now, since the event that shook up the whole damn town. He _is_ a little surprised to see Mattie there, as well as the too-somber look on Chief Zwingli's face.

Swallowing his usual chipper greeting, he plops down in a chair across the desk, lounging in its tight, square leather and looking around. There are crime scene photos and rap sheets hanging everywhere. What a mess. What a fucking mess this whole thing turned out to be.

Chief Zwingli, or Vosh as he is known to those who are not his subordinates, sighs and rubs at his temples. There is not enough coffee in the world to gear him up for this. At least his addiction of choice is a legal one. That's more than can be said for over half of the cops around here. He drops both hands behind his back, pacing in front of the boys. They're young; rookies, but not too bad for all that. God knows they need the new blood. He's hoping a few new sets of eyes will shine some light into the dark corners where this sort of shit goes down. Of course, this isn't the regular sort of shit. This is much bigger.

He stops pacing to stand in front of them, back straight and arms at his sides. "I've got new assignments for you. You had better be ready, because this is where the training wheels come off."

Alfred looks from Vosh to Mattie, slightly perplexed. Are they about to be promoted? Sweet! No more stupid rookie jokes! He grins at his friend and neighbor, leaning back in the chair and crossing one leg over the other. "This is about Bad Touch Gilbert, isn't it?" His eyes flit to the bloody crime scene photos pinned to the wall.

A bit of breakfast tries to slither its way back up Matthew's throat. He swallows and stares straight ahead at the chief, trying to ignore the pictures. The chief is pristine, from his perfectly straight blonde hair to boots so polished he can see his reflection in them. Vosh is a shining example of order amongst chaos. Mattie's own hair refuses to stay in any particular order, and his glasses are always getting smudged. In this line of work, however, that helps him. He's ordinary, forgettable. That's why he's been sent to slip in and out of places, gathering intelligence and helping them set up stings. But those were all in the nicer parts of the city - relatively speaking. If Alf's right, they're about to be tossed into the city's rotten heart. He swallows again.

Vosh nods curtly. "It's a damn mess, to be perfectly frank. Not a single reliable witness so far. Naturally, everyone heard something, saw something. They're chomping at the bit to throw one another to the wolves. Yet the crime scene's been trampled, there's enough DNA to arrest the whole damn city, and..." He shakes his head and turns to the mounted screen on the far wall. "Let me show you what we _do_ have. That will be faster."

Alfred sighs, propping his elbows up on the chair arms and linking his fingers together so that he can rest his chin on the links. This case is all anybody's been talking about for the last two weeks. "Okay, Chiefster. Who's been gunning for this asshole? Like, the whole town?"

"Yes." An obvious answer for an obvious question. The screen comes to life, already loaded with his slides. Most of them match the ones papering his walls, but here they're displayed in all the gory glory of high definition. Vosh pulls out his pointer and jabs the tip at the first of the three faces that overlay a photo of the crime scene. This one is an albino; very hard to miss. "I'm sure you can both recognize this one. Gilbert Beilschmidt is his real name, though he's known by plenty of others. He was a major player at La Citta, and throughout most of the city; the closest to really running the whole operation since Old Roma back in the thirties. The Sunday before last, somebody took him out." He points to one of the bodies. "That would be him, minus his brains and a good portion of his skull. Close range shot."

Alfred whistles low under his breath, shaking his head in dismay. "That's a hell of a shot." Squinting behind his glasses, he takes a close look at the mess on the pavement, disregarding the blood that is making his stomach twist. "Right between the eyes. Somebody wanted to watch this guy go."

"It's a long list," says Vosh. "You'll be getting that soon enough. It's the other victims that might help us narrow things down."

He points to the second image, a young man with green eyes, an olive complexion, and dark hair hanging over his ears. "Heracles Karpusi. He worked as muscle for the Casino." The body is further back in the crime scene, and there's an EMT with him in the frame. "First shot took out some ribs. Second to the head got messy. He bled out when they took him to Mercy, died on the table. Got himself a lover at the Rainbow who's pretty beat up about it. Better yet, he's got a short list of enemies and just one at the top."

"_Hah_! Saddy, old pal, you fucked up this time!" Alfred slides down in the chair, shaking his head as he smirks to himself. That bastard. It's about damn time Sadik got into it far enough for someone to slap cuffs on him. "I've been waiting to take him down for years, just for being an obnoxious bastard."

Vosh glares. The kid's going to get himself killed running into something half-cocked one of these days. "There's always complications. We took Mr. Adnan in within the first few days, but we couldn't hold him. There's just not enough evidence."

He points to the last face on the screen, this one an old, stern-looking man with a braid of grey hair falling over one shoulder. "I bet you're too young to know who our third vic is. Most wouldn't recognize him anymore." Vosh can still see it, though. He's stared at that face in the archives, in old newspaper clippings, in the only museum in town. The eyes haven't changed; they're still just as blue and hard. It felt like a piece of history died when he closed them that night. "Hans Beilschmidt. They used to call him the Barbarian."

Alfred looks from the picture to Mattie, then back to the picture. The man is old-ish, but not even close to ailing health if those broad shoulders and sharp eyes can speak for the rest of him. "He looks familiar. Didn't he own the dry cleaner's around the corner? No, no... Wait, no! The book store! Right, Mattie? He owned that book store- Wait. No. That guy's not the book store guy. Um..." He shrugs. "Don't know him."

Mattie sucks in a breath. He's seen that face before, but it's only now he realizes who the man really was. "Th-the bar. He owned the bar. But he's..."

"That's right," says Vosh. "Which is why I'm not sure if he's an outlier or the connecting piece of the puzzle. He was Old Roma's partner, back when this city was alive and bright. He's also Gilbert's grandfather. Which brings us to Ludwig."

The screen changes, showing several candid shots of a blonde man with his grandfather's eyes. He looks powerful and strong; certainly not one to be tangled with. "That would be the last surviving Beilschmidt," Vosh explains. "He's Gilbert's younger brother. Sibling rivalry is always an obvious choice when this much power is involved. Ludwig seems to have taken over the casino crowd these days, and he's got the Italians on his side."

Another set of pictures appears, these of brothers much more clearly related than Gilbert and Ludwig. They share chestnut hair that curls on just one side and bright brown eyes, but where one always smiles the other always frowns. "Feliciano and Lovino Vargas." Vosh hears Alfred snort and rounds on him. "What? You think they look like pushovers?"

"I think they look like prostitutes," Alfred laughs, waving a hand at the two flamboyantly dressed partyboys who seem to be having a good time in every picture. They're cute. Very, actually. Ludwig's a lucky man if he's got both of them playing for his team. "They're adorable. Like kittens or something. C'mon, look at them! They practically scream air-head rich boys!"

Vosh scowls and pulls up a different crime scene. This is a close up of two men, bullets in their brains and a pair of gaping wounds that split their cheeks from ear to ear. The bodies are in rough shape; there are letters etched into their chests and bruises so deep you can see the impression of the gun butt that made them. "That would be some of their suspected work. The mouth wounds are Feli's signature. Not that we can ever hold him to it, seeing as the Italians manage to win over practically every cop, lawyer, and judge they encounter."

Alfred is shocked, horrified by the picture, and he turns away to keep himself from hurling. Mattie is white as a sheet. "Okay then." He giggles nervously. "How do we, ah, deal with them? Or do we have to? What've they got to do with this?"

The headache has only gotten worse. Vosh rubs his temples as he replies, "It's very likely you'll run into them. They are...charming, in person. Charming enough to make you forget this." He gestures to the image, though he's seen it enough times that whenever he encounters the brothers, his vision is filled with mangled faces. "They are Roma Vargas' grandsons. La Citta is technically theirs by inheritance, but Gilbert's been running the show for a long time. That's plenty of motive. But for this one, they barely make the top five list. This," the picture changes again, "is Ivan Braginski." The image is of a pale man with such light blonde hair it seems white. Everything about him is cold, especially the strange violet eyes. "You might've heard him called Ivan the Terrible or Poison Ivan."

Matthew takes it all in, a little at a time, growing steadily paler. Paler than the man on the screen. These are big names; dangerous names. He has yet to encounter any of them, but he has met their lackeys in other parts of the city and heard all manner of tales. He thought a lot of them were exaggerated, but after all of this he's not so sure.

Beside him, Alfred only nods. He's always been able to take things in stride, smiling through their worst days at the academy and on the force. "I've seen that guy. He's like some big mobster dickweed." Leaning back in his chair, he sighs, taking in the thought of, perhaps, dealing with this motherfucker. Or sisterfucker, as the case may be. No one seems to be quite sure what's going on _there._ "He's a jerk. Isn't he, like, about guns and stuff? Not ponies?"

"No one is running the horse races anymore," Vosh replies. "I'm sure you recall the one thing we actually managed to get _done_ in this god forsaken district. Murder, gambling, drugs, prostitution? Not a problem according to the council, but apparently if you get some animals involved they'll send out the big tanks." He shakes his head, trying to clear the bitterness from his voice. It was a good thing. The thing that had led to his promotion. Some days he thinks that promotion was more of a punishment, though.

"Yes, Braginski is an arms dealer. Though he appears to prefer blunt force," Vosh continues, pulling up another brutal crime scene. You cannot tell by looking if the poor soul is a man or a woman, or if that bloody pulp was ever even human. Vosh remembers the bastard shrugging when they questioned him, telling them to show a picture of spaghetti to the Italians and send him some vodka. "Braginski is one of our chief suspects on this case. Several witnesses reported that he followed the elder Mr. Beilschmidt out of the Silver Stein – or rather, out of 'Vodka Now!' Mr. Beilschmidt's death was most convenient; Braginski bought the bar from the city for a fraction of what he allegedly offered the deceased. The lawyers are still trying to argue out how he managed that one when Mr. Beilschmidt left the Stein to his grandsons."

Alfred raises an eyebrow. "That dive? Dude, that one's easy. I know one of Luddy's men. Ludwig was practically raised in that bar. It's like friggin' purgatory for him. He never wanted it anyway, it was that albino brother of his. Besides, from what I hear, the bar was going under."

Well. It looks to Vosh like he was right; Alfred will be useful after all. When he pays attention, that is. He offers Alfred a notebook. "Cite your source. I'll look into it. For now, we have more to cover."

He brings up the next image, this one of a dark-skinned man, his face nearly hidden by the hood of his sweatshirt and his eyes covered by a white mask. Smart move, damn him. He's never been able to get a clean image of the man's face. "Here's your friend, Jones. Sadik Adnan. There's all manner of death threats between him and our second vic, Mr. Karpusi. It is no secret he got into a fight with Mr. Karpusi the night of the shooting - and probably every night before that when they were in the same vicinity. They both worked as muscle for La Citta, but Adnan has worked for others in the past; in fact, we have reason to suspect La Citta is not his only employer right now. Unfortunately, as I told you, we had to release Mr. Adnan due to the lack of evidence."

Alfred nods. "Saddy is... possible. It's really hard to link him to Gil, though. I mean, they were buddies. Plus, according to the late Heracles, Gil didn't mind him freelancing, as long as nobody found out, because they usually spent the money together. Went to that dealer that practically lives behind the casino and... you know. Got themselves a good time."

"Therein lies the problem. There's a flaw in every story. We're missing pieces, and I don't like it." Vosh turns to his rookies, clicking his feet together and eyeing them seriously. "That's why I'm sending you in. You'll be dressed as civilians, undercover. _Try_ to blend. I need new eyes on the situation." _"Eyes that haven't been paid to look the other way...yet,_" he adds to himself, then continues:

"Ask questions, but be subtle. Make friends. You're not total fools, I should hope, so I trust you know not to go waltzing up to any of the big boys and announce you're taking them in. Watch the dealers, too. They're like fingers, reaching into everything that happens around here. And Yao Wang is the hand." The screen changes one more time to an Asian man with long, black hair and a smirk. "He doesn't tend to get his hands dirty like the others do, but that family has been a step ahead of the rest of us for longer than I've been stationed here."

Mattie barely pays attention to the drug lord. He's still focused on the fact that Vosh really is sending them _there_, right into the heart of this mess. He tries to keep his hands from shaking. Just how are they supposed to navigate all of that? He's been undercover before; he's good at slipping in and out unnoticed. But this isn't just skirting the edges anymore. This is walking into a hornet's nest. "Um, s-sir, you can't mean to send us...I mean, not that I – _we - _can't do our jobs, but this is...maybe someone with more experience?"

Alfred, on the other hand, stares at the picture in shock for a moment. Yao Wang looks like he's maybe 26? 27? Not the seasoned druglord he's supposed to be. But he's snapped out of it when Mattie asks his stupid question. He whips around and grins. "Oh, C'mon, Mattie! We can handle this, piece of cake! We're the good guys! Good guys always win!"

Vosh speaks over the optimistic Alfred. "Of course I'm not sending you in alone. You'll be working with one of our veterans."

There's a knock on the door. Right on time; what a miracle. Granted, that is probably because this meeting has already run fifteen minutes late. Vosh opens it to welcome the last of their party. "Lieutenant Kirkland, come in." He steps back so a short blonde man can enter, then gestures to the rookies. "I'll introduce you to your new partners: Officers Alfred Jones and Matthew Williams. You've met, I believe?"

Arthur blinks blearily, at first wondering if he's seeing double. Then he blinks again, and he stands up a little straighter. "Well." He clears his throat, first eyeing one, and then the other. Fine ass on that one. And the sweetest little mouth on the other. "Well, well, well. Right then. Ah... Let's bring them up to speed?"

The chief's head gives a violent pound. He's hoping to try some of the herbal tea his sister made for him; _anything_ to help. "Already done. Unless you've anything to add?"

Arthur clears his throat again. These two are going to be distracting. "No, no. I trust you have informed them of everything they need to know, Chief. Very thorough, you are. Ah..." He reaches a hand toward the cute one. "Pleasure to meet you." His eyes flick toward the handsome one. "And you, of course."

Mattie ducks his head in greeting, blushing at the way the older officer looks them over. Kirkland's eyes are bloodshot. There's something off with him. He reaches out to take the offered hand anyway-

"Awesome!" Alfred takes Arthur's hand before Mattie can. "Three Musketeers, man! One for all, and all for one!" He blinks, looking toward Vosh. "What does that phrase even mean, Chief?"

_Gallons of tea. Gallons of tea, and just FIVE MINUTES of peace!_ Vosh probably won't get either. "It means you look out for one another." He looks at all three meaningfully. Look out for one another...yes. And report back. He knows there's a leak in his ship, several; canon-sized holes, all of them. He just doesn't have the people or the money to weed out the bad ones and fill in the spaces. He has to take what he gets. "Now get ready. I want you out there by this afternoon. Get a feel for the place before night hits and it comes awake."


	3. Ch 2: Vodka Now!

Panda N: We forge onward!

PandaG: TO GLORY!

Panda N: TO HOMOSEXUALITY!

PandaG: TO DEATH!

Panda N: ...

PandaG: ...I mean...please enjoy the chapter. And REVIEW! We adore reviews.

**Chapter Summary:** Ivan takes over management of the bar, and Toris is introduced to the Braginski family: sweet Katyusha, bitter Natalia, and the stepbrothers Eduard and Raivis.

Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia.

* * *

Chapter 2: Vodka Now!

The Silver Stein had been rechristened Vodka Now!, a catchy name for a place now haunted by Russians. Ivan was apparently pleased with his ownership of VN!, because he kept on both of the night bartenders and simply made them change their uniforms. Toris is now required to wear jeans that properly show off his assets.

When he arrives for his first shift under Ivan's iron fist, he is appraised by the Braginski crew and given a nod of satisfaction. Ivan made himself very at home in Hans' former office, and is currently doing some paperwork as two high school boys sit out front and study. These are Ivan's adopted sons, Eduard (the elder) and Raivis (the younger). Toris does not know if they are really brothers, or cousins, or something else entirely. He has no intentions of asking, either.

It's early yet; Ivan had wanted Toris to arrive before the place really opened and got busy. It is easier to set some ground rules that way, and more importantly, easier to observe him more closely. There are other matters to attend to as well: giving the place another once over, checking their stocks, making sure the back door has been upgraded with every lock he asked for as well as the ones he forgot to mention. The back room is a very…important place for guests. Which was why the first rule he gives Toris is: "No back room. No questions."

Toris jumps. "Oh! Oh, ah, sorry. I just...I usually left my stuff back here." After a moment of awkward shifting, he steps back and heads for the storeroom. "It's okay, I'll just..." Better to not leave his things here anyway. The less he sees this bastard, the better. Ivan's already offed poor Hans; there's no telling what he'll do next. God, the thought gives him chills.

Ivan grins, his voice catching Toris just before he's out the door. "You may leave bags here. I have put in a shelf; it locks." He jabs his thumb towards a small series of lockers along the wall behind him, and then takes a key out of his desk. Toris already knows it is not the only copy. "Is yours, for the one on the top left. It will be safe with me, da? No phones while working. You may talk on your break."

Toris' breath hitches. It is unfair, the way that smooth, silky voice so quickly and cleanly takes control of his mind. He isn't sure what to make of it: whether it is wiser to resist while he has the chance or simply give in. All he knows is that he will never forget a word this man says.

"Okay." He moves toward forward slowly, watching in slight horror as Ivan places the key in his open palm, forcing their skin to touch. He pulls away as quickly as possible. "Thank you." Feliks won't be happy with the no-phone thing. But they'll deal, he guesses. They always do.

"If we are very busy, and I am thinking we will be now that _I_ am in charge, I will hire more help," says Ivan, leaning forward in his chair. "For now, it will just be you and Bella. Be quick, efficient. I do not tolerate mistakes, and I am thinking you would like to keep this job, da? Especially since I will be paying you more." Not as much as he could be, but Ivan prefers to start off slow. Toris, for the moment, is merely one of the pawns to cover his tracks. He can stand to lose plenty of pawns, although this one is particularly interesting.

Toris wonders how much of this talk is a threat. Probably all of it. But it doesn't matter, he needs this job. He'll work hard - harder than he's worked in ages. That's the only way to keep your job when management shifts, isn't it? "I understand." He nods, not meeting Ivan's eyes; he's afraid to. "Thank you." He moves to the locker then, his brain swimming with the thought of a raise, a boom in the business, things he never thought he'd see. With Ivan, they may actually be possible.

At one of the tables out front, Ivan's sons are doing their homework. Well, Eduard is. He has a lot tonight, but that doesn't bother him. It keeps his mind busy, distracts him from...other things. Stretching, he takes a moment to watch the bartender. Toris? Yes. Ivan speaks of him often. There is no denying the man is handsome, a thought that makes Eduard blush and look away. He's also learned from Ivan and others that there's more to Toris. He has a strength that will bend and stretch, but be difficult to break. That is what Ivan likes; someone who will last a long time and play his games. Eddie _hates_ that he can see people that way now, in Ivan's terms. It's hard to hear his own mental voice. _Calculations. Numbers. Letters._ Those are him, those he is sure of. He goes back to work.

Raivis glances up from his phone. Eduard's nose is in a book. Good. Well, sad, but good. There was a time when he would wait with baited breath to distract him; a moment to steal his glasses or ruffle his hair, or even just to bring him some tea. But tonight is not about Eduard - it can't be. He's tired of being in love with a man who can't love him back. He has Kaoru now: the beautiful badass whom, against all odds, noticed him. Talked to him. Ultimately asked him out for a movie. Who could blame him for giving it up on the first date? Just looking at him made most boys his age open their legs. He was that strange mix of strength and almost edgy feminine beauty that no man should have. So why is he still staring at Eduard? With a sigh, Raivis throws on his jacket, the one Kaoru gave him, and tries to duck out of the bar as fast as possible.

Unfortunately, he runs smack into Natalia. "Watch where you're going you little runt!" she snarls, pushing him back inside. Gently. Ivan is never pleased when she roughs up his precious 'sons', and she lives and breathes to make her big brother happy. He smiles so beautifully when she coddles the brats that she is willing to play along. One day Ivan will get bored, and then they will disappear. She pats Raivis' head, her nails sliding through his hair in something that is more threat than caress. "Little boys should not wander on their own. Little boys could get _hurt_ if they are not careful."

Raivis narrows his eyes, leaning away from her touch and slipping past her. He really hates that woman. It's like everything she _breathes_ is evil. "Little _girls_ should mind their own business." He glares over his shoulder at her, then at Eduard, and finally slips out, heading toward La Citta. It's the usual meeting place for Kaoru and him since it's Luddy's territory, not Yao's or Ivan's.

Eduard knows Raivis is gone again without even looking up. Her knows where, too. Of _course_ he knows, it's all over school that Raivis is sleeping with Kaoru. Some of their classmates are jealous, some snicker, some just talk for the sake of talking. He hunches his back against it all. Eddie doesn't want to know that Raivis is with Kaoru, or what they do together. He _needs_ to, though, because he cannot let anything bad happen to Raivis. He swore it years ago, when they were just children and had no one else to turn to. Before Ivan, who is their savior, their guardian, their jailor, and their devil all at once.

He bites his lip, looking between the door and Ivan's office. He'll just have to cover for Raivis. Again.

Natalia snorts, picking up her skirt as she sweeps into the bar. Let the brat get himself killed; she won't tattle. It's not her fault if someone puts a bullet between Raivis' eyes for being with the wrong people. The little fool does not realize that being close to Ivan is dangerous, but being far from him is worse.

"Brother!" she calls, her face brightening as she heads for the office. She does a little turn, eyes sweeping over the revitalized bar. "Oh, it's lovely! So much better. You have such _taste_, Ivan. The old place was as dead as that old man."

Toris flinches at the words, nearly dropping a glass. But that's fine. It's the truth. He sets the glass in its proper place and starts wiping down the bar for the last time before it is to be covered with vodka and...more vodka. His eyes shoot to the quiet boy in the corner and he smiles a little, slightly worried for him. Apparently he and his - brother? whatever they are - were moved into the apartment upstairs. Eduard is almost out of high school. Soon he will be going to college, and that apartment should suit him just fine. It's bugged, of course. Everywhere. Even Toris can see the cameras.

Toris was not alone in flinching at the sound of Natalia. Her voice alone makes Ivan quiver. He was hoping she would not show up for at least another half an hour. Ah well. He really shouldn't be surprised when it comes to Natalia.

"Ah, thank you sister. You are very kind. Is Kat coming?" He cannot keep the eagerness out of his voice. His older sister tends to temper the younger, and he is honestly excited about the bar. He wants to impress, and Katyusha is easily moved. Her reactions make him stand a little taller; even if he knows they are overblown, Kat honestly means everything she says – well, most of the time. She _is_ a Braginski, after all. "She said she would take off from working at that cafe tonight."

Natalia sighs. Why would he want Kat when his favorite sibling is clearly right here? Kat doesn't even work for Ivan anymore. She has that stupid hostessing job, trying to make her own way at some cafe in the "nice" part of town. Clearly Kat thinks she's too good for the rest of them. She crosses her arms. "_I_ have come, because I know how much this means to you. I do not know about big sister. She is so _flighty_, Ivan."

Toris rolls his eyes, ducking under the bar and making sure everything is in stock. Natalia is now one of his least favorite people. She's bitter and mean, and she doesn't like anyone but her brother. He's made it his habit to stay out of her way. Behind him, the little electric kettle goes off, and he whips around to turn it off. Eduard had smiled at him when he offered him tea, and he took that as a yes.

Bella rushes into the bar, already late, and immediately begins helping Toris, running to the cellar for more daiquiri mix. She is _not_ going to get on Poison Ivan's bad side. She barely avoids Natalia, and ducks into the basement.

With a sigh, Toris carries the little cup of tea and a saucer loaded with cookies over to Eduard. He sets them down next to his books. "Working hard?"

Eduard looks up from the numbers with a bit of a start. Ivan taught him to be aware of his surroundings, to know when someone was aiming for him, but he had not expected Toris to speak. He pushes his glasses back up his nose. "Ah, I suppose. It's not all that difficult."

Toris smiles a little, reaching out and stealing a cookie from the plate. "You're smart. I found school...taxing." The thought is slightly saddening, but it brings memories of Feliks and that makes things better. "My boyfriend got me through it, though. He's smarter than I am."

At the mention of a boyfriend, Eduard can't help thinking of Raivis; or rather, Raivis with Kaoru. He's still trying to wrap his mind around how that even _happened_. Raivis was his shadow for so long, and now he's gone off with some asshole. Eddie tries to shake off the bitter feeling. "Your boyfriend? How...uh, you met in school? Have you been together that long?"

Toris smiles a little wider, a little sadder. "Yeah. From then to now, and now to eternity." He knows it's sappy, but he has the right to be sappy these days. Shaking his head, clearing it, he looks up and munches on the cookie. "Are you seeing somebody?"

Eduard nearly chokes on his cautious sip of tea. Him? Seeing somebody? Last year there was that brief fling with Emil. He isn't sure what else to call it. There were a lot of sloppy kisses and touches, but neither of them ended up particularly satisfied. He always hated the look on Raivis' face when he was sneaking off to kiss Emil between classes or after school, anyway. Perhaps he looks much the same now. "No."

He swallows some tea, trying to get his head back on numbers and calculations. Unfortunately, it starts in on what he calls "Ivan's Math" - ratios that have to do with people's lives, the information that is useful and the information that is not, where to press and when. "What's your boyfriend like?" The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. Though his lips are moving it is Ivan feeding him the words.

Toris raises his eyebrows at the abrupt answer, and the even more abrupt shift in attention. But he is immediately distracted by fresh thoughts of Feliks, which make him smile wider than ever. "He's sweet. Really different from any other person I've ever met. Determined. He drives me, pushes me, makes me get up in the morning and helps me through the day." He breathes out a soft sigh, muttering almost unconsciously. "Don't know what I'll do without him."

The last bit is so low Eduard almost misses it. He opens his mouth to ask, but the door opens and Katyusha comes bounding in, apologizing profusely her tardiness despite the fact that she was never given a time to arrive. He smiles. Aunt Kat is sweet; a bit too sweet for her own good. She has the same white-blonde hair as her siblings, cut short, and bright blue eyes. Her most noticeable features, however, are her breasts. He had the misfortune of going through puberty while living with them. It was...very awkward. Especially in the mornings.

"I am _SO SORRY!_" Kat exclaims, grabbing the first person she sees and hugging them in apology. "SO SORRY! Oh-!"

The wind is knocked out of Toris, and he is nearly thrown into a chair by the most gigantic breasts he's ever had the awkward pleasure of feeling without asking. The woman hugs him again. "OH! I am SO SORRY! I am glad you were here to set things up! I must see Ivan. IVAN!" She runs toward the back room, utterly despondent.

"Um." Toris coughs, blushing hard. "That one is Katyusha, right?"

Eduard can't help smirking. "Yes. You'll get used to that."

Toris laughs a little, stealing another cookie just for that smirk. "You think so? Because I feel kind of weird about that."

Bypassing Natalia completely, Kat throws her arms around her brother and sobs. "I swore I would be here, but I was caught at the restaurant! I am _SO SORRY_ for being late, little brother! YOU MUST KNOW THAT I LOVE YOU AND THAT THIS IS BEAUTIFUL! I AM SO SORRY FOR NEARLY MISSING IT! WHAT MUST YOU THINK OF YOUR POOR SISTER?!"

Years of this have prepared Ivan to catch her so that they do not both fall backward and he is not smothered. He waits for her to finish her rushed monologue and pats her back, catching even Natalia smile a little over her shoulder. "Kat, is alright! I am glad you are here at all. You are lovely, as always." He kisses her forehead, then draws Natalia in and kisses her head as well. His sisters are crazy. _Completely_ insane. But he loves them all the same. "I am so happy to share with my family! TORIS! BELLA! Get drinks. We will toast success!"

Toris takes the tray of straight up vodkas and slowly brings it into the office, one glass with a splash of cranberry for Katyusha (though how Bella knows what she likes, he has no idea). Eduard follows him, and then the whole family is there; the whole, strange family, except for Raivis. Raising an eyebrow, he sets the tray on the desk and fades to the back, hoping no one will notice him in this weird little mess.

Ivan releases his sisters, striding around to the front of the desk. His eyes light on Eduard, and he frowns. There is only one boy where there should be two. "Where is Raivis?"

Somehow, Eduard manages not to choke or look away. You have to be _very_ careful about lying to Ivan.  
"He and a few of the other boys in his class are going to visit Nick and NC Karpusi. They're trying to cheer them up, or at least spend some time with them, since they just lost their older brother."

It's not entirely false, either. They _had_ gone to visit the remaining Karpusi brothers, but earlier. It was so strange to see a house that was usually wild so quiet. It used to be full of boys yelling and playing, roughhousing with the oldest, Heracles, and avoiding numerous cats underfoot. Now it was just empty. Mrs. Karpusi had smiled at them, chatted quietly about how nice it was for them to come by, and sent them outside. But they didn't do anything. Just sat around and kicked at the dirt.

Katyusha knows he's lying. She can tell when it comes to men. Slowly, she slides into a chair by the desk, somewhat blocking Ivan's view of the boy with her breasts. Whatever the reason for his lies, he is defending Raivis and she will keep this family whole, no matter what it takes. "Oh! That is so nice! I shall make blintzes and drop them off. Tell Raivis I will pick him up. Just text me the address." She meets Eduard's eyes. "For the GPS."

Sometimes Eduard swears that Kat keeps a lie detector in her cleavage. He shudders to think what he would do if she should ever use that power against him. He nods, smiles, and accepts a glass of vodka. Ivan has had them drinking since they were thirteen. _"Last one standing wins the game,"_ he would tell them. It seems true enough; he's seen Ivan come out of a night drinking with some of the greatest deals he ever made. Eduard is fairly certain that at one point the man even got his hands on restricted, experimental military technology. He doesn't want to know what happened to it.

"Ah! Well then." Ivan raises his glass. "First we drink for the dearly departed. Отдых в мире; rest in peace." He looks directly at Toris and Bella as he speaks. It is important to know whose side they are on. He does not care if they harbor animosity towards him, as long as they show no signs of doing anything about it.

Toris presses his lips together, slightly pissed, but unwilling to show it. He doesn't want to deal with this tension in the air. There's something really, really wrong about the way Ivan's looking at him now. "We're... We should be open," he says softly, moving out the door _very_ fast to open up. They need somebody at the bar. It's a good excuse to get out of there.

Kat waits until he leaves to look toward Natalia pointedly. "Sister. Do you suppose Ivan would like some sweet rolls with his vodka?" She jerks her head. "I believe Bella said there were some in the pantry."

"Oh! Yes. Ivan likes sweet rolls very much, don't you Ivan?" She rushes off to retrieve them. Everything must be perfect; this is their first night. If things go well, they will own this town.

Katyusha finally turns to Ivan, ignoring Eduard, who _must_ already know what's going on, and glaring at her brother. "_What_ are you doing to that poor boy?"

Ivan shrugs, showing the whites of his teeth. "Testing his mettle. Hers too." He nods after Bella, who has gone to help Toris with her fists clenched. "They do not love me. They will. Don't you love me?" He looks to Kat and Eduard, almost desperately. "I am good to what is mine, aren't I?"

Kat's breath comes in a slow, heavy heave. She lets it out slowly, narrowing her eyes. "Of course I love you, brother. But that boy..." She looks back toward the bar, frowning at his shadow, her voice dropping a little lower. "That boy is a good boy. Is sweet. You will hurt him and lose your toy."

Ivan's smile turns sinister. Even from his sisters, he only tolerates so much. "Love is pain. Love means never leave. I will make them love me, _need_ me. No one leaves Ivan Braginski. NO ONE." Not ever again. He grew tired of losing long ago, so now he simply takes.

Eduard drinks for the dead, drinks for Raivis, for himself, for them all. It is foolish to think there is a way out. Foolish to even dream it. He goes back to his numbers, trying to recall all of the chemical formulas that were on the final last year.


	4. Ch 3: Grief

Hello my lovelies! We are starting off this chapter with a

**WARNING**: This chapter contains (non-explicit) rape and mentions of drug use. If you want to avoid the rape scene but still read the rest of the chapter, when Alfred mentions burgers skip to the final section.

Please excuse our Google Translated French; neither of us have studied the language. As always, thanks for reading and we'd love to hear from you!

**Chapter Summary**: The murders of Gilbert and Heracles have left Francis and Kiku shattered. While Kiku wastes away and Francis resorts to drugs, Alfred and Mattie begin their work as undercover officers. But there are less savory figures lurking in the underbelly of this city, eager to take brutal advantage of the vulnerable.

Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia.

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Chapter 3: Grief

It is around two in the morning, and Kiku is not asleep. He is not doing other things in bed either. No, he has been taking time off from that particular practice for the last month, since... His mind can't even go there. Every time he thinks about it, he simply breaks down and cries. It isn't fair. It isn't _FAIR_. The one good thing he's ever had in his life, and it's lost.

Even now as he sits in the Rainbow's communal kitchen, staring at his stupid sandwich, he can't breathe. He's choking back sobs, gripping the table. Since that night- the night after he lost his sunlight, his joy - he has been like a ghost. Unliving life. A whore, but no longer giving of his flesh. He has become a glorified maid. Eliza gives him a little money to clean and cook, sometimes telling him that it's okay, other times asking him if he thinks he'll ever be alright again. He doesn't. Sometimes he lies and tells her he does, hoping she'll let him stay a little while longer. Sometimes he packs a bag, thinks about where he'll go, and unpacks it again.

Francis half-stumbles into the kitchen, eyes bright and robe hanging most of the way off his body. He doesn't care. Doesn't care that he smells like sex and smoke, doesn't care about much of anything. He's hungry. He's fucking _flying_, and he's really, really hungry. He bumps hard into the counter on his way and laughs, not feeling it. Holly wasn't kidding when he swore he'd be feeling no pain. He can't remember what this one's called, just something about an opioid - his candy of choice.

"_Fuck_!" Kiku hisses through his teeth at the sight of Francis. And here Kiku was thinking _he_ must look bad. This man looks like he hasn't bathed in a week. He smells like smoke, sweet and pungent like a fucking gonghead would. And he's laughing. High as a kite in a tornado. "Kami _Sama_, Francis!"

He whips around at the sound of his name, smiling wide at the sight of his friend. "Mon cheri!" Francis pulls Kiku up from the chair and into a tight embrace. Kiku smells like flowers and rain and sadness. Lovely, except for that last part. Certainly better than most of the customers he's been seeing. He holds onto him, in part because if he lets go he's a little afraid he'll fall off the edge of the world. Then again, that might be fun! He lets go, throwing out his arms. It's very disappointing when nothing happens.

Francis frowns, looking Kiku over. His eyes are red and bloodshot, with dark bags underneath them. He's thinner than usual under that exotic, silky robe. Francis should be worried. Why isn't he worried? "Kiku, you look like shit!" he laughs.

Kiku takes the compliment in stride, seeing it for what it is - a little nicer than the truth. "You're stoned out of your mind, and you smell like someone rolled you in a joint and lit you." He pushes him away a little, only to catch him when he comes stumbling back and slowly lower Francis into the chair he was just sitting in. God, what a mess. Francis is really not taking this well. He should be nicer, but he feels like all the nice has been wrung out of him. "Close your robe, so I don't have to look at your… assets."

Francis's grin turns lecherous. "Maybe you should take your clothes off, so I can see all of _yours_." Long fingers reach out, catching on the edge of Kiku's robe as they have a hundred times before, brushing over his collar. He doesn't feel sore at all from his last round. He just wants more; something to fill up the void, something to stop the pain that there is not enough opium in the world to take away.

The touch sends hot and cold through Kiku at the same time, and such tremors that he can't breathe through them. Impulsively, he slaps that hand away _hard_, throwing it off and stepping back. "_No_." He says, looking down at Francis with something akin to empathy. It's funny. He understands. More than he would like to. If he was anything like Francis, he would be doing the same thing, wouldn't he? Kiku breathes out slowly, suddenly calmer, less angry. He lets himself reach out and touch Francis' cheek, holding his eyes for a long, heavy second. "No. It won't help me. Or you."

Francis falls back when he's smacked away, and stares up at his friend, astonished. Kiku has denied him before, of course, but never like that. His eyes are so cold, even when he is running a thumb over his cheek, catching on the roughness of his thin beard. For a moment he's sinking back to earth. Those eyes force him to recall that Kiku's lover is dead, and so is his. One of his lovers, anyway - one he loved far more than he should have. What a strange thing this is. The world's gone upside down. He cocks his head, and can't help giggling. "You should try standing on your head."

Kiku swallows, letting his hand fall to his side and watching Francis giggle like mad. His lips press together. "The world's not right as it is. I don't need to see it upside down." He turns away, picking up the sandwich he's just created and setting it in front of his dear, high-flying friend. "You need to eat. That shit will kill you if you don't come down, Francis. And you know this place can't survive without you."

Hungry! He'd nearly forgotten until the sandwich was placed in front of him. Leave it to Kiku; the man is magic. In a matter of minutes, the sandwich is gone. Francis wipes his mouth, looking back at Kiku and recalling that he's too skinny. He should feel guilty now for eating his snack. He still doesn't feel much of anything. "Nor you, cheri." He doesn't know if he could survive losing Kiku as well.

Kiku smiles a little, taking the plate away. It's for the best. He wasn't going to eat it anyway. He never feels hunger anymore; he only knows that he should eat. He hands Francis a glass of water and waits for him to swallow it all. "You could carry this place. You know that." _'Everyone knows that,'_ his mind sighs, and he takes the glass back, filling it again. "When you're not dancing on cloud club drug."

Francis frowns, confused and unable to grasp the metaphor. Kiku doesn't like the club because his brother runs it, but Francis and their coworkers always do well there. "That is how to bring in new clients. But your brother...I suppose that makes sense." He stands, pacing because he can't sit still, he has to do something. Someone. He feels like playing with fire, playing rough. Gilbert liked it rough. He wants him back.

For a moment Kiku watches him, shaking his head. Then his body physically _jerks_ as he sees the man sway and almost fall to the floor, eyes unfocused, barely seeing anything. Oh, _fuck_. "Frannie—" He calls, moving to catch his arm. "Frannie, are you–?!" He looks like he's about to pass out; he's just so fucking high he's not feeling it right now. "Put some shoes on. We have to see Bernie."

Francis turns his arm so that he has a hold of Kiku instead, and twirls him around. "Yes, yes! Let's put shoes on and go dancing. Or forget the shoes. We don't need them, we can go naked and everyone will be jealous!" They dance, spinning until Francis is not sure if it is them turning or the room.

They're so close, and Kiku feels like he's getting dizzy. No. They... _No_. They need to _stop_. He pushes Francis away, throwing him against the counter. When they've finally caught their breath, he pulls that robe closed and ties it shut. "Come with me to see Bernie," he says, tugging the robe up a little. "If he says we can go dancing, I'll go dancing with you."

Francis frowns. Kiku doesn't mean it. Not with those sunken cheeks; his hands are cold wherever they brush his skin. Kiku doesn't want to go anywhere - or rather, he wants to go nowhere. There's a difference, but he could not possibly explain it now. He wants to be worried, but he _can't_ be. He can't...his breath hitches a little, that hole pulsing with its jagged edges. Jagged, bloody edges, like brains spilled across concrete and glass, like bodies lying on the ground, little broken puppets with cut strings. He'd seen everything and nothing. Come too late; heard a commotion, had to see...should never have looked. He would rather see a thousand fresh horrors than remember. He dances away from Kiku. "Non! I don't need to see the good doctor. I feel wonderful! Let's go, Kiku. Let's go work. Let's play."

With a sigh, Kiku takes him by the arm and drags him toward the door. They need to do _something_. The man probably won't wake up without medical attention. "No, Francis. We are _going_. I don't care if you feel wonderful, _I_ don't feel wonderful." He doesn't. But there's nothing Bernie can do to help him. He just needs to get Francis there and be done with it.

"STOP IT!" Francis yanks his arm from Kiku's grip, suddenly angry. Or something like angry. "Stop it! You're so sad, it's like there's nothing left to live for. But there's always something! You just have to find it, keep going until you feel alive and it doesn't _hurt_ anymore. Because it doesn't hurt, Kiku! It doesn't; you should try it sometime. Nothing hurts. But if you insist on wasting away for some lover when there are a million others just like him, you stay here and do it!"

The words catch Kiku like someone's choking him, slicing his throat to keep him from speaking. He stares wide-eyed at Francis, knowing he's just angry, knowing this has nothing to do with him and everything to do with Gilbert. But listening to him still hurts badly. He steps back, tells himself to stop caring, and turns away in complete silence. He's not sure if he'll be okay with Francis – with anyone – tomorrow. Maybe he should pack a bag. Maybe he should go somewhere else.

Eliza stalks down the hall, determined to bring an end to this. Her hotel is full of thugs; not the usual ones, either. These are the men with mean eyes and harsh hands, men who _enjoy_ hurting. Ever since Frannie started bringing them back last week, they've been pawing at her and the others, smacking her ass as she passes or drawing her against them with hard, thick fingers, squeezing her breasts until she elbows them in the groin. She's had enough of this. She loves Francis dearly, but long ago they agreed on rules: any john or jane who wants to force something is banned for life.

There's noise from the kitchen, and at first she thinks it's one of those fuckers giving poor Kiku a hard time. But it's _Francis_ stumbling away, laughing at nothing and looking for trouble. That's it. Kiku has his issues, but at least he's not hurting anyone else. She grabs Francis by the shoulders and shoves him against the wall, shaking him. "Enough, Francis! I've had enough! If you want to pull shit like this, do it somewhere else!" She throws him toward the door. "Go fuck Toni. Go fuck your cop. Go fuck yourself for all I care, but don't you dare bring any more of those bastards here. Gupta had to break one john's _nose_ to get him off."

Kiku whips around as Francis is thrown practically out the door by their livid-looking Madam. "Liza-!" He pushes past her, reaching for the poor, wasted bastard and hauling him up. "He needs to see the Doctor! Please, just..."

It's so funny to Francis, seeing them all riled up and tense! They're whores, they've all been through some kind of hell to get here. Yet _this_ is what breaks them down? Him bringing back a couple boys who like to throw punches? They've had rough fucks before, and as long as there's money up front they've hardly cared. These days even a murder is only important if you cared about the ones involved. He flips Liza off. "Fuck _your_self, Eliza. You're no fun."

He stands, pushing Kiku away. He doesn't like the cold hands, and he _hates_ the pity in his eyes when Kiku is the one who lost the most. "You too, Kiku. I'm getting out of here." He pushes himself to his feet, grabbing the pants he'd left by the door...last night? Last week? It was convenient now.

XXX

Newly-promoted Officer Matthew Williams looks around the place that is to be their hide-out for this assignment. It used to be a series of apartments by the looks of it. The lobby of the first floor is open, with a common area, rusted laundry facilities, and a main office. From there it closes off into tight hallways and creaky staircases.

Upstairs he and his partner, Alfred, find rooms with dirty, moth-eaten furniture. There are more than moths living here, too: rats the size of his hand, roaches that he swears are even bigger, probably bats in the higher floors. It's not a pleasant place to be. Even the dealers don't like it, apparently. The ones they talked to at the club said it was haunted by the ghost of Old Roma. But they were also tripping out, so it was hard to go by anything they said. Mattie shivers. "This place _is_ kind of creepy."

Alfred grins. Cobwebs? Check. Creaky floors? Check. General aura of doom? Triple-check _that_ bad boy. This is perfect. "Dude, I _love_ it!" He claps his hands together, twirling around so that he misses falling through a disintegrating floorboard by sheer luck. "_Nobody_ wants to come here! It's like the perfect secret hide-out Bat Cave!"

It's just too awesome not to explore. He sticks his head into what was once a bathroom, but is now missing all the copper pipes. "C'mon, Mattie, it's like – like – remember? Like our first duplex! Remember how fucked up your floor was? I mean, we found a litter of kittens _living_ in your wall. And mine didn't even have a kitchen!"

Matthew almost laughs. The lack of a kitchen was a great travesty in Alfred's opinion, but not so much in his. Not that Al was too terrible a cook, it was just that it ended up a wasted space for his friend. Alfred barely ate anything but fast food, so what was the point of a kitchen? They both have apartments at a nicer place now; he can already tell he's going to miss it on the nights he has to spend here. "Kittens are cute and adoptable. Please tell me you do not intend to keep a cockroach as a pet."

"Hah! Bugs need love too." Alfred sticks his tongue out, slipping past him and letting their bodies brush in that easy, familiar way he's worked hard not to notice. "Where's Artie, d'you know? He's supposed to be here by now."

That's a _very_ good question, and Mattie doesn't like the answer his mind supplies. He's seen the signs. Artie's eyes are always bloodshot, his hands shake if he hasn't disappeared in a while, his speech is strange...the man is an addict if he ever saw one, and he's seen plenty. He shrugs all the same. Arthur is their superior, and he always follows the chain of command. "He told us to meet him here, and wait. He probably has some business to attend to."

Alfred smiles, linking arms with Mattie and leading him downstairs. He's right. Artie is their boss, and he's probably doing something important. They just need to sit tight. "Yeah, you're right. C'mon, I brought some burgers. They're in my backpack. They're prob'ly cold by now. Can you live with that, snob?"

The thought is cringe worthy to Matthew. It's unfortunate that he's hungry. At least he brought some maple syrup with him. If he can wipe off the gobs of ketchup Alfred squirts on his burgers, he might just live with it. "Fine."

Alfred crouches on the floor, going through his backpack for the burgers. Suddenly they hear a loud, very angry sounding _"NO!"_ It's followed by the sharp crack of skin-on-skin and an even louder yelp. Immediately Alfred's head jolts up. He drops his bag, straightening. "What the hell?" The sounds are coming from a far-off area of the house, somewhere toward the back.

Mattie's hand is already on his gun. He knew they should have done a better job of clearing this place, but it's like a labyrinth once you pass beyond the lobby. There are all sorts of little hallways with nooks and long rows of doors, some of which don't go anywhere at all. It's like it was built to confuse, built so that bodies wouldn't be found for days and sound would be muffled. That is a disturbing thought. "We should wait for Artie."

Before the word "wait" is even on Mattie's lips, Alfred's taken off in the direction of the noise, his gun drawn, his legs moving faster than any crook could ever be. Why the hell would they wait? Somebody's in trouble! They're the heroes!

"Shit. Alfred!" Mattie glances back at the lobby once more before following.

Alfred throws himself into what clearly used to be the kitchen. To his horror, he finds a massive, bull of a man forcing himself on a blonde, holding him to the counter and—"HEY!" He yells, pointing his gun at the sonovabitch, vowing to blow his head off if he doesn't let go right this second. "HEY! Get your fucking hands OFF him!"

The bastard makes a break for it, which is fine by Alfred at this point. There will be DNA. There will be fingerprints, bruises. Maybe even a name. They'll get him. But first, they need to take care of the lovely, broken thing trying to gather himself against the counter. "Shit. Mattie, call somebody!" He runs forward, trying to help as gingerly as possible. "It's okay, man. I promise, I'm not gonna hurt you, okay? Can you stand? Are you okay to walk?" He reaches out, not touching but ready to steady him if the man starts falling.

Francis blinks stupidly at the counter for a minute, spitting blood he's pretty sure does not belong to him. He can't quite comprehend what's happened. There was pain, a stench as heavy as the pressure on his back, and big hands that were going to wrap around his throat, squeeze until his head came off. But the weight is gone, and now he smells something new. Burgers? He looks up. Blinks again. There's an angel in front of him. A blonde angel with the bluest eyes he's ever seen, and a face so open, so _honest_, that he isn't afraid at all. "Ange..." [1]

Matthew peers at the victim, trying to decide if it's worth calling Arthur when he strictly told them to maintain radio silence. The victim is in bad shape, and apparently incoherent. He pulls off his coat and holds it out; the clothes on the floor are torn, marked with dirt and a bit of blood. "Here, put this on. We...how can we help? Can we take you to a doctor?"

'_Two angels,'_ thinks Francis. They're nearly identical, too, except that the second one looks even sweeter than the first. A cherub. It takes him a long, slow minute to understand that the jacket is for him. He tries to take it, confused when the fingers of his left hand refuse to hold it. He succeeds with the right and pulls it over his shoulders. It's long, falling nearly to his knees even though he is taller than the angel. "Merci."

There's Mattie, offering his jacket to the guy like a true gentleman. But seeing it over the man's shoulders makes Alfred's heart flip-flop a little. What's _wrong_ with him? The man was just being _raped_ for fuck's sake! He clears his throat, trying not to blush at the word, the accent. French. Fuck. He _had_ to be French to be that pretty, didn't he? He ignores it, reaching out and taking that hand in his, staring down at the bruised flesh. "We have to take you to a hospital. Do you understand, man? Your fingers are broken. Um..." He wracks his brain for any language he can think of. "Um... Los dedos es rompen." [2]

Matthew can't help rolling his eyes, just barely resisting the urge to thump Al on the back of the head. "That's Spanish, Alfred! And it's not his fingers." He looks a little closer; the victim's hands are covered in defensive wounds, but the fingers are moving a little. It's the wrist that's at a strange angle. He never thought he would be glad his papa made him take French for so long in the hopes of taking him to visit his grandmother in Quebec. "Votre poignet est cassé. S'il vous plaît laissez-nous vous emmener à l'hôpital." [3]

The angels speak French? And...Spanish? Of course, they're angels. They can speak any language, can't they? It's beautiful on their lips. The words feel like a kiss, and Francis lingers on them until he catches the word hospital. "NON! No. No hospitals, I'm fine." He pulls back from them, holding onto the counter because he's shaking - or maybe that's just the room. Hard to tell.

Alfred blinks. And blinks again. Well, this just got a little more complicated. He looks to Mattie, then back to the clearly frightened man. "You're high, aren't you?" He asks softly but bluntly, because he has no idea why else he _wouldn't_ want to see a doctor at this point. He looks to Mattie again, then back to the guy. "We still need to get you to a doctor, man. You're pretty roughed up. That guy did a number on you."

There is a very long list of reasons Francis does not like hospitals. Money and insurance issues make up most of them. Having to report this, plus the drugs, would just make it worse. Besides, he really does feel fine. Somewhere the logical part of him is screaming that he is not, and asking for a ride to Bernie's would be wise. But logic is not what is controlling him right now. He shakes his head. "No. I just...I want to go home." The minute he says it he realizes it is the absolute truth. He wants to go to his bed and curl up with Kiku, or Toni, even Artie or...Gilbert.

Mattie sighs. At least the man speaks English; he did not want to have to play translator all evening. It's very clear the man needs a doctor, but he is under no illusions that forcing him will help. God, he _hates_ his job sometimes, hates this place that crushes men and women until they are afraid to even speak. Because they're undercover, he and Alfred can't even help him report it right now. But maybe they can get the information, send it to the chief. "What's your name?"

A strangled sort of giggle bursts from Francis' lips before he can stop it. "You _must_ be new." Everyone on this side of the town knows his name. For a good time, you call Francis. It's a shame the first chance he's had to really introduce himself in a while is when he's looking like this. "Francis."

"Francis," Alfred repeats softly, because the name sounds a little familiar. But he doesn't care. He offers Francis his hand. "We are new. But we're gentlemen. And we're not going anywhere until we know you're where you want to be. Fair?"

Francis' angels are kind and sweet, and suddenly he's quite sure they have been sent his way because someone needs to save _them_. With those cherub faces and kind, trusting words to complete strangers, this place is going to eat them alive. He takes the hand. "Merci, mes anges. What may I call you?"

Francis...why is that triggering something? Mattie knows it, he just can't place it, and the look on Al's face says he feels the same. Actually, the look on Al's face says a lot more. Mattie is trying very hard not to look too often at Francis, because even beaten, he's beautiful. He blushes and meets his eyes instead. They're deep blue, and over-bright so that they shine like the stars. He knows that's the drugs. It's hard to care. "Matthew. Mattie."

Alfred grins stupidly, feeling quite sure that he's been hit with cupid's sledgehammer. Whoever he is, Francis is definitely something. Something he's never seen before. "Alfred. Most people call me Alfie. Or Alf. You know, which ever. Doesn't matter. It's a name, right?" He's babbling. He really needs to shut up. He doesn't care too much, though. This man is too lovely to care about anything else.

XXX

The car that rolls up to the Rainbow is a modest one, so Kiku is a little surprised to see Francis stumble out in the arms of two gorgeous young men. But that isn't really important. The important thing is getting him to a doctor. Luckily, he called Antonio about an hour ago, and the man showed up with his car and his sternest face. They are going to get Francis to the clinic if it takes knocking him out with a dinner plate. Which it might.

Kiku pushes off the stoop as Toni moves to catch the teetering whore, glaring daggers at the two young men. Toni's glare holds twice the threat. The two men are clearly as besotted as he is - and who wouldn't be? - but they are still customers. Customers that _did not take care_. He's going to... "Hope you assholes paid him well for the damage. Now get the _fuck_ outta here," Toni growls.

The drugs have started wearing off for Francis. It makes sense. He can see a crack of light out beyond the casino's flashing signs that is not electric, telling him dawn has arrived. But _fuck_, now he knows why they kept trying to convince him to go to the hospital. Alfred helps him out of the car and he is immediately pulled into a different set of arms. It smells like spice. Francis glances up, trying to smile at his dear Antonio. The man looks _furious_. That's never good. Toni has a violent temper when it comes to things he cares about, and it's only gotten worse since Gilbert died. He tugs on his sleeve, then reaches up to caress his face. "Non, non. It wasn't them. They're mes anges, they saved me." He smiles back at his angels, trying to memorize their faces. He _will_ find them again.

'_Oh Man.' _Alfred nearly groans_._ With the look that dude is giving them, they better get out of there, fast. Well, at least now they know how Francis makes a living. No wonder he's so damned pretty. "Um – He's a little out of it, we think. So. He wanted to go home. Um..." He scratches a hand through his hair, looking to Mattie. "We'd better get going."

Mattie's still got the driver's door open, keys in hand. He wants to make sure Francis will be alright, especially now that he understands who the man is. Francis _Bonnefoy_, the prostitute who was apparently Gilbert Beilschmidt's favorite lover. He was on the list of those brought in for questioning – among those without much of an alibi, but without much evidence against them, either. Mattie wonders if the people here are his real friends, or just using him, selling him. His fists clench a little. The Spaniard looks like he wants to strangle something. "We wanted to make sure he was _safe_."

Kiku thanks God for the rare kindness of strangers. He moves to Toni, taking Francis from his frighteningly steely grip. He holds Francis close, patting his back as he notes the look in his eyes. He's coming down. Thank God. "He's safe here. _Thank_ you." He says it with sincere fervor. "We will take him... somewhere."

The smaller man seems truly grateful to Matthew. He looks a little sick himself, though: pale and much too thin. Maybe that is simply the nature of this world. Mattie looks up at the Rainbow, taking in its flashy façade and rich looking balconies, each a different color. They'll be back later, he's sure of that much. They have questions to ask, as subtly as they can. He exchanges a look with Alfred. "Alright. We'll...we'll be around." He catches Francis' eyes. They're even prettier now that the blue is clearing. "S'il vous plaît prendre soin de vous." [4]

Francis smiles to hear the French. Oh, he simply _must_ find his angels again. "Oui. Both of you, too."

Alfred smiles wide, grinning at the man who is giving them a smile that... Well, it's probably fake. But he can't wait to see it again. "C'mon." He takes Mattie's hand, pulling him back to the car.

Toni continues to glare hard at the retreating figures. Alright. Fine. He can probably forgive them for those looks. Anyone his Francis can call "angels" certainly deserves a little forgiveness. But when he finds out who he needed saving from... "Alright, Fran. Let's get you patched up." He heads for his own car, trusting Kiku to bring Francis along.

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1 - angel (French)

2 - The fingers is broken. ["…se rompen" is the correct grammar, but Alfred's Spanish isn't very good :D.] (Spanish)

3 - Your wrist is broken. Please let us take you to the hospital. (French)

4 - Please take care of yourself. (French)


	5. Ch 4: The Good Doctor

Greetings lovely readers! We get to meet some new characters in this chapter; any Sweden and/or Finland fans should be pleased! We hope you enjoy, and please review!

**Chapter Summary:** Kiku and Toni take a badly injured Francis to the clinic, run by the agoraphobic ex-doctor Berwald and nurse Tino.

Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia.

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Chapter 4: The Good Doctor

The night was not an easy one for Berwald. Usually nights are loud, busy, full of things to keep him occupied so that his mind cannot wander to the things he's lost. But this night was dead. Very dead. The only thing keeping him from restless slumber was his dear friend Tino; it seems like he's always there when Bernie needs something to distract him.

Tino is organizing all the supplies he's swiped from Mercy Hospital, humming to himself. It's some tune he'd heard on the radio, something he can't remember the words to. Beyond him, Bernie can see the pale light of dawn floating in through the window. He should get Tino to sleep; he's sure the nurse has a shift in a few hours. It's not good for him to be tired. He watches for another minute before standing, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Y'should go t'bed."

Tino jolts out of his reverie and turns to face the man who embodies everything he shouldn't - just _shouldn't_ - be thinking of. Straightening a little, he presses his knuckles into his hips and smiles. "Speak for yourself, Doc." He meets Bernie's eyes, challenging. Tino may still call him Doctor, but when it comes to Bernie's own damn health, the nurse knows best.

Berwald remains unmoved, though he can't help enjoying Tino's smile. It's brighter than the sunshine. "I don't have a shift. I can sleep whenever I need to." In fact, he prefers to wait until sleep is absolutely necessary. That is when he's tired enough to simply fall into the depths of inky black, beyond dreams and more importantly, beyond memories. He has never slept well. Not since he started sleeping alone. Even after all these years the bed is too cold, and the house is too quiet. When there are no patients, Tino, at least, fills the silence. Sometimes he thinks the nurse could fill more than that, but he bans such thoughts from his mind. He just can't handle a thing like that. Not ever again.

The look in his eyes becomes something soft, worried. Tino doesn't want to worry him. He lies, crossing his arms over his chest in defense. "I don't have a shift tomorrow. Stop worrying about me, Bernie. You should know med school is nothing but training in sleep deprivation."

Tino is a cute little thing; blonde and hazel-eyed, with that easy smile that makes Berwald's heart lighter. But he's not a very good liar. Bernie opens his mouth to say as much when bright lights flash through the window. That's not the sun. He hears gravel crunch as someone turns into the parking lot behind his little clinic. The sign out front declares his house to be a center for charitable donations, but even the cops know him as the Good Doctor – the one who treats all the unfortunate souls around here who can't or don't want to go to the hospital, regardless of their reasons. He starts for the door before the motor cuts. Someone's hurt. He never knows how quickly he needs to move, so he always assumes the worst.

Tino snaps out of the daze Bernie has put him in and looks up, trying not to feel like he just missed something incredible. Something he's been waiting for. But he hears the car pull up and his RN training immediately takes over. He grabs the gurney they have stowed by the door and rolls it outside in time to see Kiku, the loveliest whore alive, holding up Francis, the loveliest whore half-dead, and helping him out of Toni's car. "What's the damage?" he calls out, trying to be quiet about it.

Francis manages a grin as he leans on Kiku, watching the world tilt. "Kiku isn't eating. Toni is about to have a stroke. I'm just fine. Can't you tell?" The ride over was quiet, but whenever he looked in the rearview mirror for a glimpse of Toni's face the man was scowling as though he meant to run down the next person to cross his path. There would be trouble later. Francis had snuggled further into his coat, only realizing that it wasn't his about halfway through the ride. It smelled sweet, and it was soft. His angel's coat. Matthew. It's nice to have something pleasant to think about, even as he stumbles and nearly takes Kiku down with him.

"_Shit_," Tino mutters. Francis is high as fuck and looks like he's been through a bar fight. Tino leaves the stretcher by the door and runs for them, taking Francis out of Kiku's arms and trying to get a gauge of his face as he flails. Jesus. Francis has bruises all across his skin, and he looks like somebody took a piece out of him in the worst place.

"We need-" A rape kit? What the fuck are they going to do with a rape kit? They need blood samples and hair samples and samples of what was done, but they can't have any of that because this is a place for not telling. "We need fluids!" Tino calls to Berwald, who stands just inside the door.

Bernie's face doesn't change. He's seen worse; _much_ worse. He deals with every whore, addict, dealer, thug, and lost soul in this forsaken part of the city. When they come here, they are all the same: patients. His eyes sweep over this newest group, trying to decide what needs to be done. Francis is the most obviously damaged, but Kiku seems ill and Antonio really does look like his brain is going to implode soon.

Tino helps Francis limp inside, and Bernie takes a moment to look after the other two. He nods at Antonio and points to the open safe by the door. No one is allowed to carry a weapon in his clinic. There is no fighting, no arguing, no selling or buying, and he knows Toni, at the very least, has a gun.

Toni looks at the safe and curses, pulling out his gun and shoving it in. His other gun goes with it, as well as the knife he keeps in his boot. Kiku bypasses the safe completely; he carries nothing. Francis is already down the hall, being taken care of by Nurse Tino. Toni scowls hard at Bernie, speaking low and with resolve. "I wanna know who did this."

Wouldn't they all. Bernie wishes he could weed out every rapist and murderer in the city, but he is fairly certain there wouldn't be many people left in the end. A depressing thought, no matter how one looks at it. Besides, that is not what he does. His policy on confidentiality is strict.

"Ask Francis, then. If he feels like telling y'." The doctor strides away, gesturing to the couches in his large, open living/dining room. "Sit. There's apples on the table, and juice if y'want it." He stares hard at Kiku. "Eat an apple."

Kiku blinks, sitting down slowly and observing at the apples on the table. They look like large, red globs of sand to him now, or just as appetizing. He doesn't move from his place. He simply crosses one leg over the other and cocks his head at the bowl of them, as though he is choosing the appropriate one, and hopes the doctor will move on in a moment to take care of the real problem.

Kiku's not going to eat. Well. Bernie will deal with that in a moment. He goes to the bathroom. It's cleaned twice daily, until the smell of antiseptic is so strong he nearly chokes when he enters. But it's important; he doesn't have another place to wash up. Rinse. Soap. Rub hands together vigorously for fifteen seconds, getting under the nails. Rinse. Snap on apron, gloves. Now he looks like a real doctor again.

Meanwhile, Francis is crashing from his high, holding that jacket so tight around his body that Tino fears they'll never get it off him. But if that's what makes him a little more comfortable, that's okay. He assesses the bruises, mapping them out on the paper diagram of face, neck, and shoulders Bernie keeps on hand. Next he will map the torso and back, then the arms and hands. Then the... offended area. Then the legs. Then the feet. He will do this as he works, assessing everything.

"Can you tell me anything about the attack? Anything you'd like us to spread amongst the other houses?" God forbid he even say the word 'police'. But Tino knows Francis won't want any other whore getting hurt. Not if he can help it. Francis treats those of his profession better than royalty, and would protect them before all else.

Francis is cold, and his head is spinning, and _everything_ hurts. Damnit. He should have known; the crashes have not been fun this past week. He just keeps swallowing more pills and forgetting. He shuts his eyes, trying to relax and remember. The events are foggy. He remembers something with Kiku, something that made Kiku sad. He remembers leaving, and then_..."Gonna make you scream, pretty little thing."_ He shivers hard.

"A john. I found him somewhere, or he followed me. I don't know. Promised to pay." He laughs. "I never did get the money. How stupid. I always tell the others to get paid up front."

While Francis is talking, Berwald comes up to the doorway. He looks over them for a moment, trying to decide what needs to be done. Francis is clutching the coat with one hand, the other badly swollen and cradled against his chest. Broken, if he had to guess. Looking at the dark bruises on his face, Bernie's not sure he wants to know what's under the coat. The man is frightened, shocked, and pained, despite his smile. He's seen it too many times before, more than once on this same patient and all too recently. Some of the bruises on him now are from the last incident, and fading to a dull green. He wishes he could give Francis something for the pain, but chances are it will interact badly with whatever drugs he's on this time.

Tino looks up when Bernie finally enters, his breath catching as it always does when he sees the man in scrubs. You'd think after so long of taking care of the doctor like some shut-in, the crush he's always had would be long gone. But of course not. Of _course_ it's still there, haunting him with impossibilities, making him want things that don't exist. Like a chance to prove there's more than one true love for everyone in this world. For Bernie and for him. "He's coming down," he says instead. Clinical, logical, just like always.

Bernie nods and tries to look gentle. He never succeeds. "What'd y'take?"

Francis digs in the pockets, only to remember once again that this isn't his coat. He tries his pants instead. There aren't any pills in these pockets, either. Just his keys and a bit of cash. He shrugs. Holly is always careful to tell him what it is, but once he's flying high he's got no memory of it. That's the point, after all; to leave the world so far behind he forgets anything hurt to begin with. "Opium...something."

"Lilliput. Opium, LSD, and something everyone's calling Dark Fairy. They're getting it from Asia," Tino says. He's looking at Francis' pupils, taking in the way they go crazy against his hand light. "We need to stop the bleeding. That shit will go through his blood like paint thinner." He sighs, grabbing a tongue depressor from the shelf he'd watched Bernie install what seems like a lifetime ago. When he sticks it in Francis' mouth he finds he's right. His tongue is bright purple. "It's a tab. They dissolve it on the tongue, it turns purple. See?"

Berwald grunts, frowning. He's getting behind on the new drugs again. Damnit. He might actually have to ask _Mattias_ for a visit…or just get Tino to make up a new list. He likes the second option much better. He gets his equipment together and pulls a gown down from the shelf. Tino pilfers them from the hospital; no one misses gowns, so they're one thing he never runs out of. He hands this one to Francis. "Can y'put this on? We'll leave f'r a minute. Get things."

The gown is soft under his hands, and Francis spends a moment just petting over the fabric. He doesn't want to get rid of the coat; it smells like one of his angels. But Bernie will not take it from him. The Good Doctor has an intimidating look, but his hands are always gentle. "Oui."

Tino turns around, blushing a little at the implication: Francis is getting naked, and they need to leave for a second. He shouldn't blush. He sees it every day. But it's Francis, who could make even _Bernie_ blush if he so chose.

"I'll get the IV." He moves, bypassing Bernie just a little too close, trying to get out the door. He needs the isotonic pressure, and they have to be careful about how they deal with those wounds.

"How bad?" Bernie asks as they stand together in the spare room he's turned into a massive supply closet. He's hoping Tino managed to see more than he did. "D'ya check his blood pressure?"

"Not as bad as it would've been in twenty minutes. He's crashing." Tino replies, pulling out the IV and hooking up the fluids. He turns around and finds himself standing...so close. So incredibly close he can't breathe. He swallows hard, stepping back, averting his gaze to the floor. "Anyway, we need to push this fluid, hard. And whatever needs help down there, needs help, like, yesterday."

Berwald nods; his assessment was much the same. The bruising is ugly, but it can wait for some ice. The wrist needs help, but is unlikely to get worse. It's the drugs they need to worry for, and any bleeding. He piles blankets over his arm, a tray with antiseptic, bandages, sutures...everything he can carry.

He knocks on the door with his foot, waiting for a muffled "oui" before entering. Francis seems to have shrunken in the past few minutes. Then again, everyone who sits on one of his patient beds wearing those gowns looks smaller, fragile. He wishes he was better at being comforting. It's a good thing Tino's present for this one.

XXX

It felt like a year, sitting in that long unused parlor, staring at pictures of a family that no longer existed. The pictures litter the wall, bringing personal thoughts to mind. Kiku half-wonders how Bernie seems so alright now, in comparison to himself and Francis. On the other hand, the doctor never leaves his house, so the term 'alright' might not really be appropriate.

Toni is not happy with the wait either. His leg jiggles, his fingers tap - nervous energy. Kiku can tell he wants to punch something, it's written all over his face. After a long, insufferable silence, he looks up at Toni and rests a hand on his jiggling leg. "Calm down. He'll be alright."

Toni yanks his leg away as though the touch burned him, and stares at Kiku with an irate frown. "I know that!" There's a heavy pause, and Toni realizes his tone was a little rude. "I know that. I..." He clenches his fists, sliding away from him.

The look on Kiku's face is just about as offended as he ever lets himself show. Toni practically recoiled! Is he really that unappealing now? Frowning, he slides a little further away himself, placing his hands in his lap. He tries to keep his voice level, even as his mind snips that men have paid good money to feel his touch, and how dare this one be so offended by it! "I am angry too. We should all be angry."

"Then be angry. S'better than killing y'rself."

Kiku whips around and glares at the good doctor, annoyed with the way _everyone_ seems to think he wants to join Hera on the other side. "Leave me out of this, Doctor." He narrows his eyes a little harder, looking him up and down, trying to see whatever secrets the famous stone wall hides. "What do you know so far? Has he told you anything?"

Berwald has stripped off his gloves, his apron, washed his hands, and cleaned up. Francis is buried under a pile of blankets, still coming down, but stable. The man was a mess, yet the damage wasn't as terrible as he'd been expecting. A lot of it was old, built up from months and years of a hard life. He'd hoped that maybe with Gilbert dead Francis wouldn't end up hurt so often. He is going to have to have a talk with Francis, whenever the man returns to his right mind.

First, he will have a talk with his other patients. Kiku is acting strangely. He knows the prostitutes better than most, simply because they come to see him on a fairly regular basis. They use protection every time, but that does not mean it is foolproof. Kiku is usually pleasant; quiet, occasionally sly, but eternally polite. This is not Kiku. This is a ghost, and Bernie already has too many of those staring down from the pictures on the walls. He gestures to an empty room with a clean bed. "Y're here. Might as well let me look y'over."

Kiku crosses his leg tighter over the other, feeling self-conscious and more than a little annoyed. "Tell me what you know, and I'll let you look your fill, 'Doctor'." it comes out as a sharp jab, the tone almost mocking. He doesn't know why he's so angry, but he damn well is. It's like the man's avoiding his questions, choosing instead to pick at him like some hungry buzzard. "I'll even let you touch if you ask nice."

Berwald's eye twitches. He _never_ touches his patients that way; he is a good man, a good doctor, and even when he got a little lost he never hurt anyone. His face remains solemn and his voice is monotone. He is used to dealing with people who are in pain, particularly people who are _stubborn_ and in pain. "I don't need t'touch. Want t'check y're weight, and y're pulse, and listen t'y're lungs. Y'look sick."

Toni's eyes shoot to Kiku and stay there for a moment, reflecting on things that he knows. Kiku does look sick. Very. But it could just be Hera, right? Losing someone you're that in love with can really fuck with a person. It has to be grief. His fists curl at his sides. It _has_ to be. He would _never_...

"Well I'm certainly sick of _waiting_." Kiku pulls his limbs in even tighter, finally curling his legs beneath him, refusing to stand. "I'd be better knowing what the hell happened last night."

Part of Bernie wants to tell them what he can, hoping that they can do more to fix this. But he's got his rules, and he has to stick to them. Everything that happens here, every word that is said under his care, is completely confidential unless it is information he must use to save their lives. He turns for the kitchen. "M'making tea and breakfast. Kiku, if y'go without eating, I'm going t'tell Tino t' take y't'the hospital."

Kiku leans on the arm of the couch and gives Bernie the sternest look he can muster before finally relenting and picking up an apple. "Give me what I want, and I'll eat."

Berwald remains silent as he puts the kettle on. His kitchen is perfectly organized, much like everything else in his house. Part of it is from Tino, and part of it is because he cannot stand to have things all over the place. His life was a mess once. He won't let it happen again, and he won't see it happen to anyone else if he can help it. He starts on some oatmeal. It's hearty stuff, but goes down easy. Good for them all. "He kept mentioning angels," he says, keeping things vague. He's trying to gauge what these two know, not betray Francis. He needs to know if Francis was hallucinating.

Kiku almost growls, turning away for a moment, half-thinking about hurling the apple at Bernie's head. "I've met the angels. They're quite nice. I want to know about the devil. Did Frannie know who it was?"

Francis had mumbled a name, along with a lot of other things, but the way he said it, the way he clutched that coat and his eyes went wide, Bernie knew. If he says something, however, Toni's likely to kill the man. Bernie wants to save lives, not end them; not that he never questions such a goal when men like that are involved. Sometimes he wonders what he would do if he found the driver who killed his husband and son. Would he obey his rules then? He shakes his head; no use wondering, when it's unlikely he'll ever find out. Even the cops never uncovered enough evidence. "We could use angels," he says in the end.

"Fuck angels! Fuck this, if you won't say anything I'll find the bastard myself," Toni growls. He stomps out, grabbing his guns and slamming the door.

Kiku looks toward the door, thinking about going off to catch Toni in case he's gunning for those nice boys. But he wouldn't be. Frannie made it clear that they're under his wing. His attention returns to the doctor; he could feel those pale blue eyes digging into the back of his head.

"M'sorry," says Berwald. "'Bout...I mean, I understand." His eyes shift away to the smiling man and little boy on the walls.

Kiku looks to the floor, studying the grains in the wood, wishing he was back in his room, back in his bed, reveling in the emptiness without thinking instead of studying it like this fucking doctor seems so willing to do. "I don't think you do." He says it softly, chewing on his lower lip. Berwald... It was a sad tale to think about. He had everything. A legitimate job, a beautiful house, a husband, a little boy; a sweet life for a city bent on ripping the decent things in life away. He and Hera, on the other hand... They were...not real lovers. Not committed that way. There was never supposed to be anything permanent there, yet now he feels like he's lost half his soul. Maybe they had something. Maybe what they had was more than what they called it. Maybe he should've said the words - _the_ word. What did it matter now? What did _any_ of it matter now?

Berwald's eyes slide to the hall, where Tino is putting things away and peeking in on Francis. Perhaps he doesn't understand. He has spent years _trying_ to understand, and it never makes any more sense than it did the night of the accident. It doesn't make sense for him to be here now, either, feeling more akin to a couple of whores than anyone else. The pot starts whistling. The oatmeal is ready. "Y're right. Eat anyway. Maybe tomorrow it'll taste like food."

Kiku watches in vague disgust as Bernie pours the hot water into the little bowl, wondering if there's anything he can say to get out of eating it. Probably not. Resigned to his fate, he curls up further on the couch and waits for Bernie to bring him the bowl before he, begrudgingly, spoons through the mush.


	6. Ch 5: Patients, Patience

Hello lovelies! Fair warning that we are taking a** brief break** from our regular updates, because twoscarypandas are going to **OTAKON** this weekend! We're very excited. If you're at the con look for us on Saturday, we'll be cosplaying dark!France and dark!Prussia. Following the con we're taking a little update vacation to recharge. We'll see you in about a week!

**Chapter Summary**: Berwald and Tino dance around their own problems while taking care of Francis and Kiku.

Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia.

* * *

Chapter 5: Patients, Patience

Berwald spent the day looking after his patients. Tino went to work after a hurried bowl of oatmeal. He knows Tino's schedule most of the time, but little else. He should know more about Tino, about what he does when he is not working and not at the clinic. He can't really recall if there _is_ anywhere else Tino goes. Bernie tries to puzzle it out between coaxing Kiku into eating, taking care of Francis, and _finally_ getting Kiku to allow an exam. Kiku is not ill; at least, not by the standards of traditional medicine. Heartache is something he cannot heal, though he does everything that he can.

Evening falls, and he has no more answers than he did in the early morning. When Tino returns, looking exhausted but still smiling, Bernie hands him a plate of microwaved vegetables and a sandwich, and decides its time he actually learned something new. "What do y'do? I mean, when y're not with me."

Tino frowns at the plate, confused but touched by the offer, and places it on the counter. He takes apart the sandwich and uses the filling and the vegetables to make a stir-fry. He's exhausted, but if he's learned anything from caring for Bernie, it's that Bernie can't cook to save his life. The sentiment was sweet, though, and he can't help smiling as he hands the bread back to him. "Nothing. Sleep. Sometimes I read, but I can never finish a book. Why?"

"Because." Because he should know what his best, his _only_ friend likes to do. He should tell Tino to leave more often, to take time for himself and not worry about the fool who cannot leave his own house. It is only the downstairs that has changed into his clinic. The upstairs remains exactly as it was. Only Tino has seen it, and Berwald feels badly because he yelled at him for being there. Someday he will show him. Not today. Never today, always someday.

Tino raises an eyebrow at that, then opens the cabinet he's claimed as 'his' to retrieve a bottle of olive oil. The sandwich appears to be turkey. Turkey and veggie stir-fry it is. He also grabs the pepper grinder and the lone clove of garlic. He wonders if Bernie even notices he filled a cabinet; he's never once touched it. Not to his knowledge. The frying pan is in the drying rack and he pulls it out, setting it on the stove. "I read. I work at the hospital. Sometimes I meet friends for drinks, but that rarely happens anymore. I..." He sighs, thinking on it. What _does_ he do? "I sleep. I study up. Sometimes I watch TV - shows that aren't running anymore. I don't have a very interesting life, Bernie." The words make him feel slightly pathetic, so he keeps his focus on the stove.

Berwald raises an eyebrow. "Y'volunteer every day at an illegal clinic run by an agoraphobic who lost 'is medical license. Y'take care of me and m'patients. Y'save the lives of the ones everyone else forgets. I think y're interesting."

Olive oil rolls around the inside of the pan, and Tino blushes hard at the overwhelming flow of compliments from the man he adores. It feels damn good to hear them, but he can't let them go to his head. He pours the contents of his former plate into the pan. "Yes, well. Considering you're the agoraphobic, I must seem like a regular dynamo."

Bernie tries to smile a little. He knows too many people's secrets, things that he can never speak aloud for fear they might crack the very earth and send this city into the abyss. Despite this, it is Tino he finds most interesting. Tino is still a mystery, one that cannot be broken down into flesh and blood and bone.

There are footsteps, and Berwald glances up. It's Kiku, so Tino's mysteries will have to wait. He hopes the smell of food brought him, but he has a feeling that's too much to hope for. "Y'alright?"

Kiku nods softly, looking toward the pan on the stove. It's filled with vegetables and some kind of meat. He doesn't care for it. He jerks his head toward the hall. "Francis is waking up." For some reason, he feels very cold. He pulls the robe around himself a little tighter.

Tino blinks, turning off the stove and wiping his hands on his pants, moving toward the little powder room they've been using to sanitize themselves. Quickly prepping, he heads into Francis' resting room and moves to stand in front of him. "Headache?" He asks softly, hoping his voice doesn't make Frannie want to stuff a pillow down his throat.

Headache implies localized pain. So no, Francis thinks, he does not have a headache, although his head is certainly part of it. He squints up at the nurse while Bernie takes a gentle hold of his good hand and checks his pulse. The other is encased in thick bandages and stiff boards. Berwald doesn't have access to plaster casts most of the time, but he makes do.

God, he is _never_ taking those pills again. Of course, if Francis had a dollar for every time he said that, he'd probably never have to have sex again. Which would be a shame. Even after last night, even though right now he is chilled by the thought of thick, heavy hands and the stench of sweat and sex. He will get over that. He has before. He groans and sits slowly. "Am I allowed to _take_ anything yet?"

"Nope," Tino answers, checking his pupils and jotting down a couple of notes. "Baby aspirin in twelve more hours. Nothing more than two of those every six hours for at least a day. Then we can start you on the harder stuff. But don't you _dare_ take those tabs again, or I swear to God I will come to Rainbow myself and drag you off to involuntary, non-negotiable rehab. Trust me, if you think the hospital's bad, you've never had _me_ guarding your ass."

Francis winces at the volume, and more at the word choice. "Apparently I need that," he mutters, looking down at the blankets and, over top of it all, the coat. It's still got spots of blood on it; he wouldn't let them take it.

"Yeah, apparently you do," Tino replies. Alright, maybe that was a little harsh. It just feels like every time he tries to get through to someone, it rolls right off their back. Ridiculous. He's sick of it, and sick of being ignored, and sick of people being dumb when they know very well what the smart thing to do would be. "Would you like some water?" He turns toward the kitchen, feeling flustered.

Berwald almost smiles, only because he knows that tone. Tino can be critical when he needs to be. Bernie himself has certainly been on the receiving end. Somehow, when Tino says those things, it is effective. Tino's not big enough to intimidate, he never carries a weapon, and he has no real 'connections,' but when he glares and growls about your health, you do what he says. There's no question. He helps Francis sit forward a bit, undoing the back of his gown and pressing the stethoscope against it. It's a good excuse to check on the long, fresh scratches over his shoulders, and the older scab on the back of his head, under the hair, which tells the story of his last clinic visit.

Tino returns with water, still feeling bad. Francis is more focused on wincing, so he stands back and lets Bernie check him out, making sure to stay out of the way and keep silent when he knows he's not needed. There's no question Francis is going to be out of work for a few days. Though judging by Eliza's earlier phone call, prying for information, he will still have a place to stay. Lucky him.

Kiku already told Francis that Eliza was worried. That's a good sign. He _could_ always go home with Toni, but Toni lives in the same place as Lovino, Feliciano, Ludwig...Gilbert. He can't handle all of that right now. He wants his own bed, in his own room with his poster of the Eiffel Tower, his map of France, his massive, comfortable bed and the smell that is home, not this sterile, blank place. He looks to Berwald. "May I go home?"

Berwald is not in the habit of keeping patients unless they need to stay. This is not a hospital; if the situation is that serious, he does his best to get them to the closest one, even if they do not want to go. But Francis is likely to do better where he is comfortable. The only problem about sending him home is that the Rainbow is also his workplace. "Y'can. But, y'need t'let y'r body heal. Y've been torn, and that can cause serious problems. Point is, no sex for a month."

Kiku has been standing in the doorway for the last few minutes, and with that, his jaw hits the floor. "_WHAT_?"

Francis balks as well. "A MONTH?! Doctor, that is my livelihood! I can see a week or two, but a month...that is a lot of money!" He's hurting now, and it's true that he doesn't really want to be touched. Yet this is his life, his work. A month without it is going to leave him with a very tight budget. That's if Eliza doesn't kick him out. He doubts she would, she's too kind a soul, but what about the way they left things last night?

Berwald grits his teeth. He figured there would be a fight on this one. "If y'want t'keep y'r assets, y'have t'listen t'me. If y're not careful y'can do permanent damage. M'sure the world would be deprived." He deadpans all of it, wondering if they understand that the last line is a joke. He tries, but most people find his humor frightening. "Y'can...I mean, there're other ways. Use y're…" Color rises to his cheeks. This is not his line of things at all. He's sure they can figure out their own ways to work around it.

To Kiku, the thought is unbelievable. Francis going celibate is like the Italian brothers going celibate! Or _Yao_, even! Never! His mind whirls with the quick calculations. The brothel makes fifteen percent of all earnings, but on Francis's work Liza had cut the percentage down to ten; Lord knows, the man earns that extra five percent. With the average amount of clients he takes every day, plus the amount of parties he attends, this month is going to cost the brothel big time. "That's nearly ten thousand dollars in business for _RAINBOW'S ALONE_."

Berwald's eye twitches, but there is no other sign of his surprise. Even now it is hard to get used to the ridiculous amount of money that is shifted around among the citizens of this backwards city. Most of it will never get into the hands of the actual people, and remains with the big bosses; people like Ivan and, until recently, Gilbert. All _that_ money must be with Ludwig now.

For better or worse, those are the same people who pay him to take care of their underlings, when their underlings can give him nothing but thanks or offer to pick up his groceries. Bernie's never worried about the money, not like he used to be. Whenever he thinks he will finally have to start charging regularly, or close his doors, there is some unexpected 'donation' to his little charity - very often from Roma's Pasta Shell Company. He takes a breath and hardens his resolve. "It's not about money. It's about y'r body, y'r _life_. If y'don't take a break, y'll never work again. I've heard a lot of people say they...care about y'. They wouldn't want t'lose y'for good."

Kiku sighs, staring at the good doctor with both respect and annoyance. Francis really _is_ in no shape to be screwing around too much. With that broken wrist, there's no way he is going to be offering helping hands, either. He sighs, and nods. "I'll see to it that he's kept in line." He smirks at his friend, letting him know that he'll be strict - to a point. "When can we bring him back for a look at that arm?"

Bernie goes to his shelves and pulls out a sling. If there's no plaster to keep the wrist completely immobile, he can at least offer something to ease the strain. It will also serve to remind Francis that he isn't supposed to be using that arm. It takes him a minute to get it adjusted so that the wrist is supported, rather than the elbow and forearm that the sling is made for. "It'll take 'bout six weeks. But y'can come before then. Two or three, and I'll make sure everything else looks alright, too. Oh, hold on. M'gonna give y'some pills." He has been debating about that all day, considering Francis' habits. In the end, however, a good dose of antibiotics wouldn't hurt. He's worried about the bite on his shoulder.

Francis glares at the sling and makes a face at the doctor's back. He isn't happy with all these rules. On the other hand, he feels like shit. Probably looks it, too. Until at least the bruising on his face has gone down, he's not going to get many clients anyway. He ducks his head a little, feeling terribly stupid. "I...thank you."

Kiku takes the pill bottle from the doctor and smiles a little, offering him a charmingly apologetic bow, eyes peering up from beneath his lashes. "I will make sure he takes them, and not the others. I am sorry for my behavior. I was very rude to you."

Bernie tries a smile, and presses an apple into Francis' good hand. He jerks his head toward Kiku. "Y're gonna make 'im eat. And bring 'im with y'when y'come back."

Francis laughs, keeping hold of Bernie's hand along with the apple so he can kiss it. "You have my word, mon docteur."

Trying not to notice the slight and not-so-slight flirting, Tino throws the "Angel Jacket" over Frances' shoulders (maybe a little roughly). He heads for the chart on the counter, very carefully not looking at either of them. "I'll schedule an appointment for you both in three weeks. Does that work? The seventh is perfect. It's my day off. I'll be here _all day_." The last is said with a pointed glance back at Francis.

Francis smirks. It is crystal clear to him, and probably to most, that Tino is in love with the Good Doctor. He's protective of him, jealous of anyone Bernie touches, comes every day to make sure the man has enough food...yes. L'amour.

It's harder to tell with Berwald, whose face rarely changes. For a while Francis was convinced that the man was utterly asexual, despite having once been married. Marriage does not require sex, after all, and the doctor's son had been adopted. But then, romance does not require sex either. Bernie's face seems a little less serious with Tino around. Perhaps this is exactly what the two of them need; someone to care for. The thought is bittersweet, and his smirk falls. "Oui, oui. Fine. Kiku, did you call anyone with a car?"

Kiku nods, checking his cellphone and trying not to grin at the way Tino is practically marking his territory. "Liza is out front. She says she's going to charge men to masturbate in your bed if you're not going to take care of them for the next month."

"Not fair!" Francis cries. "I am supposed to be resting and recuperating there!" He gets to his feet anyway, wincing.

Kiku grins, taking his good arm and allowing their sides to brush just on the intimate side of proper. "Well, my dear, I suppose we'll have to make you look absolutely ravishing tonight. If they're going to be looking at you while they do it, we might as well give them their money's worth."

Berwald pushes his glasses back so he can pinch the bridge of his nose. He will never understand these people. "Tell 'Liza I said not t'night. Give it time." He takes hold of Francis' chin, taking a last look at his eyes. The drugs are gone, but the fear's still there, and he can feel the pulse in his neck beating like a rabbit's. "Few days. Y'might not feel it now, but...s'gonna hurt."

Kiku rolls his eyes, unworried. They've all been through something like this at least once. Francis, more than once. They'll be fine at the end of the day. Just like always. "We'll see you in three weeks, Bernie." He says it crisply, pulling Francis along by his good arm, intent on moving into his room for at least that long. He's not letting him out of his sight again.

At the door, Eliza is waiting for them. The very sight of the pair melts her heart. Oh, God, how could she have been so cruel? Yes, sometimes she has to be the bad guy to keep things running smoothly for everyone, but she should never have told Francis to leave! Not like this. A sob escapes, and she immediately embraces the pair, running gentle fingers over Francis' face. "I'm so, so sorry! I didn't mean for this, I didn't want this! Oh Francis, I should have...!"

Francis kisses her forehead, all forgiven. They are both stubborn and they have very different ideas about how things should be run at times, but in the end they are as close as siblings. Closer, perhaps. At the very least more intimate; unless you're counting Yao and Kiku, but they're not full brothers and they do not particularly like one another. "All is well, ma princesse. It is not your fault."

Smiling a little, Kiku drags them both into a soft, easy hug. He's glad to see them okay. "Thank you for not killing each other. And, Liza, I'll thank you not to kick my dear friend out again. So long as he remains sober." He gives Frannie a determined look before pulling away and heading for the car.

Berwald raises an eyebrow from his spot by the door. There's a cool evening breeze running through the air. He looks down at the inches separating his front hall from the world outside. There's mud on the carpet now. He'll have to clean that up. He shuts the door.

Tino is humming again as he cleans up the clinic area, scrubbing everything down with disinfectant and trying to remember how the song actually went. Something about a girl with a smile. That narrows it down. Half laughing to himself, he puts the disposable tools in the trash and saves the ones that can be cleaned. He feels Bernie in the room before he ever looks up, so he smiles. "How many songs to you know about girls with pretty smiles?"

The doctor blinks. Sometimes he has trouble keeping up with Tino. "Don' know." The sheets need to be changed, the dirty ones washed and bleached. There's a bit of blood on them, but nothing too terrible. They're salvageable. "Don't think about pretty girls very much."

Tino laughs a little, turning around to take the bundle of sheets from him. "Clearly." There's a half-pile of laundry heaped on the floor; Francis' robe is salvageable, but he didn't seem to think so, and finders-keepers is the rule of the clinic. He pulls the whole lump into his arms and turns to Berwald, half afraid to ask. "Your husband, he was... um. Quite pretty. I suppose that counts."

Bernie freezes up, his whole spine going so stiff that he feels like if he tries to move it will snap. He thought it might not hurt to think about after all these years, and yet it still stings. "Ja." He forces himself to turn, to keep moving and busy himself with something. "Y'think about pretty girls? There's lots of them, I s'ppose, at Mercy."

Tino laughs out loud at that, shaking his head hard. "Bernie, if you didn't know by now that I have _no_ reason whatsoever to think about pretty _girls_..." He's still chuckling as he wanders out of the room toward where the washer is hidden by a pair of shutter doors.

Berwald shrugs, following him out with a tray of tools to be cleaned and sterilized in his back room, right next to the laundry. The whole place smells like chemicals and antiseptic. "I figured. But y'never talk about _anyone_." If he's honest with himself, he has always been a little relieved that Tino doesn't talk about his relationships. At first it was because the very mention of love made him want to down an entire bottle of hard liquor, but now there's something more to it that twists in his gut.

Tino shrugs, still half-chuckling and shaking his head. "There isn't anybody to talk about. Just..." _'You'._ He smiles, trying not to blush. "No time to play boyfriend. I don't think I could fit a guy in my apartment, let alone my life."

He hesitates, but Bernie feels he must speak. "Y'could, if y'spent less time here." It wouldn't be fair to Tino if he avoided pointing that out. As much as he would like to have him around all the time, he does not want to be any more of a burden than he already is.

Tino freezes, not really looking up. He's almost afraid to. Is Bernie trying to say he doesn't want him around anymore? "I like working here. Is it a problem for you?" he asks, very, very softly, begging Bernie to say it's not. He can't even think of what life would be like without this, them, every day. He doesn't want to consider about it. But Francis was very generous with his affection earlier, and maybe Bernie is starting to consider having a life outside his house. Who needs a little fanboy hanging around when you're trying to pick up the pieces of a shattered past and move on?

"Of course not!" He can't believe Tino would think it could be a problem. He can't imagine life without him. "Y'do so much for me. More than all this," he gestures to the laundry, "y'make me less lonely. I like havin' y'here. But I don't want t'keep y'. Y'have a life, and y'shouldn't have t'spend it all with...someone like me." He turns away again. No, Tino should be with other happy, smiling people. Not a man who lives in a mausoleum, practically waiting to be buried.

"_I don' want t'keep y'..."_ The words sting, though Tino knows they aren't meant to. He smiles through it, turning away and opening the cabinet above the washer, trying to reach the bleach. "Well, I like your work and your company. So I suppose you're stuck with me." He finally gets a hold of it and uncaps it, spreading out the sheet to find the stains.

Berwald smiles a little, coming up behind him to help open the sheet. Tino's back is warm against his chest, and his hair smells nice amidst all the chemicals. "Thank y'."

God, Tino's never going to get over this, is he? Bernie's body is warm and hard, unmovable, unshakable. He wants so badly just to sink into him, just to... to _feel_ and let himself indulge in the fantasy that this could be something. But he knows better. He'll be waiting forever if he stays in love with this man. That's worse than any pain he's felt when it comes to love. He needs to move on, and he _knows_ it.

Closing his eyes tight to keep any stupid, worthless tears at bay, he slides out of Bernie's arms and leaves the sheet in his hands. "I - um." He swallows hard, rubbing a hand over his face and turning around. "I got new detergent. It's in the car, I'll just..." He retreats quickly, heading for the back door and at least some measure of sanity.


	7. Ch 6: The Rose and the China Doll

Aaand we're back! We had a fabulous time at the con and met some really cool people. It also gave us the chance to discuss some of the awesome things we have in store for this story. It's gonna be good. (Or bad, depending on your favorite character.)

**Chapter Summary:** Francis and Kiku decide that grieving together is better than grieving alone.

Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia.

* * *

Chapter 6: The Rose and the China Doll

Francis has never been so glad to be back in his own room. It's gotten late now and he can hear the johns outside, but Eliza was kind enough to give both he _and_ Kiku the night to recover themselves. She and the others are going to be busy tonight. Liza is going to try to get Roderich to turn a few tricks, too, but there is a reason they call Roddy the Gentleman Whore; he much prefers working in the casino, playing his music. Francis feels a little guilty for all the trouble, but since the moment he reached his bed he has not wanted to get up again.

Kiku returns from the little bathroom with a cup of water and aspirin. He smiles at the look of relief on Francis' face at the sight of the pills. "You _must_ be in pain." He laughs a little, sliding into the bed next to him and holding out the tray like a good servant. The man is propped up on enough pillows to hide a harem, and he still looks uncomfortable. There's some homemade delicacies Kiku's mother taught him how to cook lining the tray - fried tofu and a little soup to go easy on the stomach. "Eat before you take it. I don't like it when you take things on an empty stomach."

Francis smirks. "Mm, but Kiku, it's not good to 'take' things when you're too full. You'll get cramps." He takes the tray anyway, spooning the soup into his mouth. In their line of work it is useful to be ambidextrous, so the broken wrist does not hinder him very much.

"Like you've ever had a cramp." Kiku smirks back, looking down at the fried tofu, feeling a sudden pang of hunger. But they are for Francis. He restrains himself. He sits on his knees, reaching over and pulling at one of the pillows until he has something to prop his elbow up on. Sufficiently propped, he leans on his palm. "You're such a natural."

"Practice makes perfect, cheri. You, however, are such a beauty you hardly need it." He catches Kiku eyeing the tofu. Excellent. If Kiku's really hungry, then it may make it easier to fulfill his promise to Berwald. He puts the spoon down to nudge the plate towards him. "Eat. Please."

Kiku shakes his head, pushing it back toward him. "You're not getting out of eating, my friend." He reaches over, tugging Frannie's hair affectionately. "I want you well enough to tell me what a fool you were. Not that you'll ever admit such things." He takes a fried triangle in his hand and dips it in sauce, offering it to him. "Eat."

He should be opening his lips, wrapping them around the morsel so that he can suck on Kiku's fingers until he pulls away. Instead Francis puts another spoonful of soup in his mouth. "I am eating. I _have_ been eating. I am a damned fool. You are a fool who is _still_ not eating." He watches Kiku from the corner of his eyes. It is very difficult to win an argument with Kiku if you maintain eye contact. There's just something about his stare that makes you feel like the man knows everything.

Kiku sighs, looking down at the fried tofu between his fingers, pouting at it. He doesn't understand it himself. Everything has become unappetizing, everything hurts; not physically, but worse, deep within. "Every time I think about it, food just doesn't look good. It looks... heavy."

Francis puts the spoon down carefully, looking at him, but never his eyes. Kiku is looking down anyway. He isn't sure what to say to make this better. If he knew, he would have said it to himself. Perhaps if he tries to explain what he'd been looking for last night, Kiku will find his own answers. "Gil...Gilbert liked rough sex. He liked to feel good, so good that pain was pleasure. He was a _presence_, a force of life and passion in the form of something exotic and beautiful, dangerous. I thought...I thought maybe, if I found that again, that fire, I could...I don't know. Not replace him, just not miss him so much."

Smiling a little, Kiku sets the fried piece of nothing on the tray and looks down at it, trying not to cry. His other hand rests in Francis' hair, combing through it, listening to him, trying to remember how to apologize for life, for things that don't make sense, for horrible, tragic things that take all the strength from a man. "You can't replace people, Francis. No one exactly fits." He closes his eyes, breathing in. "He loved you. So much. More than anyone."

Francis's laugh is bitter, and he wipes furiously at his stinging eyes. "No he didn't. I'm not stupid, just a little sentimental. He loved his brother, he loved _himself_. He loved me a little bit, but there were others. I cannot blame him; he was never the only one I loved. Just one I loved too much."

He leans into Kiku's touch, breathing in the scent of incense that always clings to his soft skin. How did he let himself get so out of control, when Kiku is the one who lost so much more? Kiku _needed_ him, and instead of being there, he'd gone and made himself the victim. He turns his head to kiss Kiku's palms. "Hera did love you. He told me so. He asked if I thought you would want to meet his mother."

Kiku turns stiff, closing up against the soft, tender kisses. That's the last thing he wants to hear. The _last_ thing. They never even... It was _sex_. It was sex, and sweet words, and a little bit of undue favoritism. Even as he thinks it, he knows it's not true. He was _shattered_ that night, and he has yet to figure out how to make himself better.

"I'm..." Kiku pulls his hand away, rubbing it over his face and pressing it into his eyes. "I'm certainly glad he didn't ask _me_." He laughs somewhat bitterly, but his lips feel stuck together, and he can't breathe. Suddenly, it's quite hard to feel anything but pain twisting in his chest, and a longing that makes him feel like he'll be empty forever. His hand presses harder, holding his eyes closed to keep the tears at bay. "Really?"

Francis pushes the tray carefully off his lap, out of range of spilling. There's enough room for four people in his bed - five or six if they're willing to be a little cramped. He pulls Kiku against him with his good hand, trying to hold him together even though he feels like the man is breaking beneath his fingers.  
"Yes," he whispers against his ear. "And you loved him. He knows it, Kiku. I'm sure he does."

Kiku shakes his head slowly against his shoulder, unable to stop himself from a soft, dry sob. "How could he? How _could_ he know?" He hugs Frannie gently, careful of the bruises but cold and not wanting to let go of whatever warmth is here to take. Breathing him in, he holds on, shaking a little as he tries to drag himself back from the heartache. "I want him back. I just want to _tell_ him."

God, it _hurts_, and all Francis wants to do is to find those little purple tabs and go back to flying high, even if it kills him in the end. But he can't. He has to stay _here_, stay with his friend, they have to...fix this? There is no fixing this. He'd seen the bodies, the blood and brains spilled across the street like so much garbage. It makes him shake, and he buries his face in Kiku's hair. "So do I."

Kiku feels him shake, feeling him scared and sad against his body, wanting so much to flee this world. So he clings to him, refusing to let him get away, even as Francis does the same. He's so scared that the words come out shaky. "Don't leave me." He says it fast, on a breath. "Don't. I can't see you go. If you go, I don't know how I'll live, Francis. Please."

Francis wraps his good arm around him, hand pressed tight against his back. He can feel Kiku's tears, wet and warm against his chest. His own are surely soaking Kiku's hair. He moves a leg to tangle with his in lieu of a second arm. Everything feels so broken. The world has shifted and something bad is coming; he can feel it deep down. They are all going to pay. But together, maybe he and Kiku will survive. "I will not, cheri, not if it is in my power. I swear it. But you must promise not to leave me, either."

Kiku holds him for a long, long time, breathing him in, getting his breath back, making sure he's stopped shaking enough that he can pull away and not feel like he's going to bolt. When he finally does pull back, it's only to press his lips to Francis, at the hollow of his throat, soft and tender - a barely-there kiss. "I don't think I could." He sighs it, curling into Francis carefully, taking advantage of his warmth and scent and the grief they share.

Francis nods toward the tray, his good hand still wrapped around Kiku. "Then _eat_, cheri. For my sake, eat."

Kiku smiles a little, surprised at the life still left in him, and then grins. "Make me."

For a moment Francis stares, trying to decide what this is, if Kiku means what he thinks he does. That smile...he's seen it before. Knows it well. _That_ is the Kiku he knows, playful and seductive. He grins back. Despite the fact that their eyes are still red and there are tear tracks down their cheeks, it feels like a bit of the world has decided to slide back into place. With a laugh, he caresses Kiku's back, letting his hand slide low. "But my dear, I have been banned from such pursuits; lovely as I am sure they would be with you."

Kiku is surprised himself. Surprised and...well. It's amusing just how easy it is. It feels simple with Francis. They know the rules. They know how to play with each other, and they know that right now, when they're at their most vulnerable, there is no safer release. He couldn't do this with anyone else; couldn't flirt, couldn't kiss, couldn't…Just couldn't. But with Francis, it's like breathing. "I did not hear the good doctor forbid you from feeding me _things_." He smirks a little, tapping his nose. "In fact, I believe I heard him insist that you make me eat."

Kiku is absolutely nothing like Gilbert. Kiku is quiet, never demanding, gentle unless they are playing a game, dark haired and dark eyed and all smoothness. Perhaps...perhaps this is exactly what Francis needs. "Come eat, then."


	8. Ch 7: Home

Happy Friday my lovelies! Here's a new chapter to celebrate, with the introduction of Feliks! And get excited, because the next chapter will introduce a couple of characters you've been asking about since the beginning.

**Chapter Summary:** Toris visits his boyfriend, Feliks, in the hospital, and the pair continue to adjust their relationship as they deal with poverty and disease. Meanwhile, Eduard and Raivis argue over the later's late-night wanderings and a jealousy neither one is willing to name.

Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia.

* * *

Chapter 7: Home

Mercy Hospital is one of Toris' least favorite places. But it is his reluctant home these days, and he visits even in the off-hours, sneaking into Feliks' room with real food and some things to read. The first time Feliks requested a book, of all things, Toris nearly spit his drink. But apparently his lover can still surprise him. Good surprises and... not so great ones. He doesn't want to think on it; indeed, he's made a career of _not_ thinking on it. He just wants to be with the man he loves. Always. For as long as he can. So tonight he's bringing the newest popular mystery and a bag of burgers, slipping into his room and turning on the bedside lamp.

Feliks is sleeping. Toris doesn't really want to wake him, so he leaves the book and bag by his bedside and crawls into bed with him, resting an arm over his chest. Feliks is warm. He feels so good after today. Even now, even here when he looks like a ghost in comparison to his former self. Toris presses his face into his shoulder and breathes him in, taking in his scent and committing it to memory once more.

Feliks is really on the borderline of sleep, that place where dreams and reality blend until it is difficult to tell the difference. The sun is suddenly out, and he and Toris are lying together in a field of rye. He blinks when Toris shifts to lay a hand over him, the weight bringing him a little closer to waking. The light is very bright. Toris smells like vodka. Vodka? He blinks again, shifting a little. "Tori?"

Toris looks up and sees the little crease in Feliks' forehead, the slight shift in his shoulders. "Hey." He smiles, dragging his hand away and resting it on the mattress. "I was about to go to sleep next to you."

It takes a few more blinks for Feliks to figure out that he is not looking at the sun, but a lamp. They are not in the fields, either. They are in a hospital bed. But Toris is real, and that is all that matters. He reaches out to touch his face, smiling sleepily. "I sleep way better when you're here. I will, like, never understand how you get in past visiting hours though."

Toris smiles a little, thinking of Tino, who knows him, and the other nurses who let him by without so much as a glance. What they don't see, they can't get in trouble for. And he knows they sympathize. "I have my ways. How was your day?" He reaches up, pressing his knuckles to his lover's face in a gentle caress.

"Let's see...I finished my last book. Counted ceiling tiles again - I got 183 this time. I don't know why it keeps changing. I swear they mess with them just to make me think I'm losing it. Got poked with a bunch of needles." He holds up his arm for Toris to see where they've been taking blood from, a bandaid pressed firmly in place. He sighs and presses his face into Toris' neck. "It's boring. And stupid. The medicine they give me makes me feel all gross, and I want to go home with you."

Toris sighs, really not wanting to tell him that at this rate, he might have to. The bills are immense. He's scratching the bottom of their savings just to keep Feliks here. Right now, it's looking like he'll either have to get another job, or lose the apartment and just stay here until... God, he doesn't want to think about "until". It's now that matters. Now. "I'm sorry it sucks so much. I'll get you more books, okay?" He's been making fair use of his library card, that much is certain.

Feliks can tell that there is more Toris isn't saying; he can hear it in the strain of his voice. But after all of this, he owes Toris a secret or two. He owes his boyfriend everything. Toris is the one who took everything in stride, never getting angry or forcing questions, or forcing _anything_ but that one trip to the hospital when things got bad. Granted, he has not left since that particular trip. Now Toris is paying the price for that as well. He snuggles closer, sniffling. "Thanks. You're too good to me, you know? You could totally just leave me here, and I mean…I wouldn't blame you."

"Why would I?" It's a stupid question, but one he still doesn't know the answer to. He loves him so much, leaving was never a possibility, not even a thought. "Shut up about stupid things, Feli." He laughs a little, trying to blow it off. "You're everything to me. So I'm going to treat you right."

"I'm sorry, Toris," Feliks whispers, as he has many, many times since they ended up here. "I never meant...I didn't want...it wasn't...oh God." He swallows hard, trying to take Toris' advice. But this isn't a stupid thing. He could've gotten Toris sick, no matter how careful he was. God, he hates this.

Toris doesn't want to hear it - doesn't want to _think_ about it. He's kept himself from knowing for so long already. He doesn't want to know, doesn't _need_ to. He wants to keep Feliks in his mind as the man he loves. Knowing would just...

"Hey." Toris forces his mind away, leaning up and kissing his mouth. "Stop it. I- I think I'm getting a raise soon." _'If I'm good,' _his mind sighs. "The new boss is loaded, and he really wants the place to do well."

Feliks forces the sadness from his face. He finds Toris' hand and squeezes it. "That's totally great!" Poor Hans. The old man was good to them, even when he caught them fucking _on_ the bar that one time. What did it matter what Hans did before, or that the bar had been sinking for years? He was a good guy. This new owner bothers him. Whenever Toris talks about Mr. Braginski, there just seems to be something off. Toris can't even keep his phone on him! Which totally sucks, because Feliks wants to text him constantly. It really is boring being sick. "I hope you get it. I know you will; you were keeping that place alive already!"

"Yeah, I think I will." Toris smiles, crawling up his lover's body and pressing their lips together. "So things are looking up." He kisses him, hands wandering down his sides and reaching for the hem of his hospital pajamas.

Feliks smacks at his hands. "Tori! In a hospital here! There's like, sick people and stuff."

Toris sighs a little, but just barely relents, pulling his hands up to touch his face. It's been so long. He's got condoms and, well, they don't even have to _do_ it. He just wants to be close to him like that again. He misses it. "Babe, c'mon..." He kisses his mouth again, dragging his fingers back down to caress the inside of his thigh.

Those hands make it _very_ difficult for Feliks to resist. Even though he feels weak and too hot and achy all over, Toris is like a cure. When he's with him, he instantly feels better. It's like he's not sick at all. All the same, he pulls his mouth away and closes his eyes. "I don't want to get you sick." He caresses Toris' face, opening his eyes to look at him seriously. "I love you, you know that? I like doing those things with you - I mean it should be totally obvious at this point. But I can't stand the thought of you even getting the sniffles because of me."

Toris shakes his head slowly, resting his lips against Feliks' neck and breathing out a low, easy sigh. Part of him understands. He gets that Feliks doesn't feel well, and he knows that Feliks wants him to be okay. However, there's still a part of him that wants to throw it all to hell because he doesn't know how he'll survive without this man. He doesn't want to. Rolling off to his side, he leaves a hand on Feliks' stomach to feel its rise and fall. "I don't care, Feli. I want to be with you again. To... you know." He smiles, just a little sheepish.

Damnit. Toris is not making this easy. But Feliks is tired, and tomorrow is the start of something freshly unpleasant. He didn't plan on telling Toris about it until after the fact, so that he wouldn't worry when there was nothing he could do. Now he's thinking that it might be better to say something now, because Toris will be even more upset if he finds out later. Besides, Feliks has been keeping silent about too many things lately. "I know. I want to too, when I feel alright. But if the nurse was explaining it right, I'm going to start feeling very not-alright. Doc wants to put me on chemo and all that shit. It's poison, but he thinks it might help."

Toris goes stone-like, his hand dropping off to the side, feeling absolutely sick to his stomach with the thought. He's always said, whatever it takes. But he knows what chemo can do to a person. He's heard Tino's horror stories. Slowly, he reaches down and links their fingers together. "I'll be here," he says very, very softly, because he can't say 'it'll be alright.' "I'll be here until I have to go, and the second I'm off work I'll be back. I'll bring you books. I'll do whatever I can, baby. I promise." He squeezes his hand tight. "I love you so much."

"I know. I love you too," Feliks repeats, because it is the one thing he is certain of anymore. Their hands stay locked together as they curl inward, as close as they can get. He cannot imagine going through this without Toris. He's been sick for years, but now it's morphed into something more than a virus in his veins. It's his cells themselves now, mutating on him. If he can't trust his own body, then he will have to put all his faith into his spirit, and into his boyfriend. "We'll be okay, Tori. Someday."

Toris smiles, nodding just a little because he is afraid to think of what 'someday' means. Afraid to even consider anything beyond this moment. "I'm okay. As long as I'm with you."

XXX

The hour is sometime past midnight. Ivan is probably wondering where the hell he is. But it doesn't matter. Nothing matters right now, in this moment of teenage post-orgasmic bliss. Kaoru is just what the doctor ordered; hot, bad, and to Raivis' inexperienced standards, a spectacular lay. The perfect distraction. Tonight they'd tested the front passenger side of Kaoru's sexy-ass coup and found it cramped, but good enough for now. Sadly, like most good things, distractions cannot last forever. With one last kiss, Raivis bids his boyfriend farewell and walks the rest of the way home, feeling lighter than air.

Eduard is up late as well, pretending he's studying even though he finished hours ago. Mostly he's been sitting here wondering what the hell happened to Raivis. He's always back late from these adventures, but every time Eddie can't help wondering if he's dead, or hurt, or if that bastard Kaoru has run off with him or broken his heart. He'd prefer the later. Not because he wants to see Raivis hurt, but because the sooner this ends, the less hurt Raivis will be.

Ivan is out, thank God, on "business" somewhere. It's just Bella running the bar, with a few trusted lackeys to keep an eye on things. Eduard could hang out downstairs with Bella to pass the time, but he can't stand the noise. It's never been his scene. He sighs, finally turning a page he hasn't been reading for the last fifteen minutes.

Raivis slips through the back storage area, easing into the bar with one eye over his shoulder. Ivan has a habit of being exactly where you don't want him. Slightly scared that he actually _is_ waiting for him, Raivis grabs a can of soda from one of the stock shelves and pops it, stowing his jacket behind a crate. He'll act like he got home ages ago. But when he comes in, sipping his soda, he finds his worries are unfounded. Ivan is not at the bar.

He heads up the stairs, pausing at the door, almost afraid to open it. If Ivan's not waiting, he knows someone else is. Someone he almost dreads facing, far more than Ivan. Swallowing half his can of soda, he breathes out a sigh and pushes open the door. Inside, he finds Eduard. He has his head in the same goddamn book, like he never noticed Raivis was gone. Fine, whatever. He moves toward the kitchen of their little apartment and grabs a glass for the soda.

Eduard is glad to see Raivis home safe, but the sight makes his temper flair. Coming home now when he's been worrying all night and acting like it's no big deal? He slams the book shut. "Well?"

Raivis jumps at the noise, the passive show of Eddie's anger. Then he rolls his eyes, opening the freezer for some ice. Typical. Just typical Eduard to get so pissed off over Raivis having a life that didn't revolve around him. "Oh, I had fun. How was _your_ night?"

Eduard glares, pushing his glasses up his nose. They always seem to be slipping down. It's like his ears are too far forward. "I spent it covering for _you_. _'Raivis is with the Karpusis, trying to help them through the loss of their big brother. Why aren't I there? Oh, I have to study. Raivis is done his work. Raivis is good friends with the Karpusis. Raivis just wants to help, and I'm too busy.'_ GOD!" he shouts, throwing up his hands. "I can't keep coming up with this shit! You barely know them, and I feel so guilty using _that_ as your excuse."

Guilt and teenage selfishness smack together in Raivis' nerves, and for a moment he's not sure whether he's going to yell or cry. But it's _Eddie_ scolding him, and that makes it even worse, to the point where he just wants to leave. Get out. Call Kaoru and ask if he's got room for one more in his bed tonight. "You don't have to cover for me, then. I'll make up my own damn lies." He growls it, pissed off because here he thought he was having a really good night. "Or better yet, I'll tell him the truth. I'm seeing somebody. I'm fifteen. It's not a crime."

"I'm sure _that_ will go well." It's not so much the seeing someone that's a problem. Ivan _flipped_ when he caught Eddie kissing his best friend Emil a few years ago, but not in the way he expected. He'd been...excited. Invited Emil for dinner. Sleep overs. To go on 'family' outings with them. It was just _weird_. That was half the reason Emil didn't come around so much anymore, even though Ivan asked after him. Often. Eduard is still waiting for the day he comes home to find his ex-something unconscious in his bed, courtesy of Mr. Braginski.

Kaoru is a different story. He has a reputation, made worse by the fact that his uncle's been sending Ivan rather threatening messages regarding his territory. Eddie sighs. "Don't do that. Even I don't want to see the asshole's brains on Ivan's pipe."

"_Excuse me_?" Raivis whips around to give Eduard a look that is all anger and hopefully none of the secret cheer he feels. Dear God, why does he still feel it? Kaoru's _perfect_ for fuck's sake! He has to get over this stupid... thing! "Did you just call him an asshole? That's my _boyfriend_ you're talking about, okay? If you have a problem with him, keep it to yourself! I kept all my thoughts on fucking _Emi_ to myself, didn't I?"

Eduard almost smirks. Sure, Raivis had kept his thoughts to himself, but he made it perfectly clear what they were. Cut Emi off, locked him out, 'accidentally' hit him with his bag, talked to Eddie loudly and completely ignored Emil...thoughts to himself indeed. It was kind of cute, in retrospect. But he shouldn't see it that way. He should see it as any real big brother would - annoying. "Shall I shut my mouth and elbow Kaoru every time I see him then?" That, of course, is a good way to ask for a broken nose.

Raivis' eyes narrow and he takes his drink in hand, turning his back. "Sure. I'd like to see that one." He laughs ruthlessly, reaching up to the cabinet to pull out Doritos (his dinner for the evening). "You know what? I hope you're real happy with Emi. Because I'm _ecstatic_, and I'm with a _great guy_ and we're having _great sex_, which is probably more than you can say." He smacks the cabinet closed.

Eddie stiffens. Raivis knows perfectly well he and Emi are just friends these days. He also knows that they never got very far. They were both afraid to try much more than a handjob. Eddie because he didn't think he'd be any good; Emil because of the situation with his own big brother. All Eduard could really get out of him on that subject was that he didn't want either of them to get hurt.

The thought makes him glower. Kaoru had _better_ not be hurting Raivis. He might not be tough, but Ivan taught them both to defend themselves. If it comes down to it, Eduard will defend his (step)brother with everything he has. "Sex isn't a relationship. I'd tell you to go over to the Rainbow if sex was all you wanted, but they don't take anyone who _isn't even eighteen yet_."

'_Hah,' _thinks Raivis_._ '_There. That got him_.' He can't help the greedy feeling of triumph that slides through him. Suppressing a grin, he turns around and sips his soda. "Sex is sex. A relationship sometimes involves sex. You should try it sometime - the sex. It's more fun when computers aren't involved. And less sad."

With that last jab, Raivis snatches the Doritos from the counter and heads to his room, feeling invincible, like he's just done something impossible. But his stomach churns with the inevitable reminder that he's just had _another _fight with Eddie. He swallows hard, trying to force it away so that he can actually feel _good_, instead of just invincible.

"FUCK YOU!" Eduard screams. He throws a textbook after him. It hits the door with a loud, angry crack, but the sound isn't at all satisfying. It's not fair. "I don't need sex! A computer's more likely to get me the FUCK out of here!" But that's not true. It doesn't matter how good his grades are, how easy it is for him to fiddle with technology. They're never getting out. They owe Ivan their very lives. Chances are good that once he graduates, Eddie will be working for Ivan. Who has time for sex?

Part of Raivis feels like it's dropping through him. This is stupid. It's _stupid_. He's with Kaoru, they're supposed to be together, and yet the minute Eduard gets pissed at him he could care less about anything else. He's about a second away from calling Kaoru and breaking it off, but if he doesn't have this, what will he have? An impossible crush on a boy who isn't exactly his brother, and doesn't even _think_ about sex? Who just wants to _leave_? "Fuck." He curses under his breath, dropping down on his bed and trying to remember why he felt so good before.


	9. Ch 8: The Lotus

You've been asking about them, so at long last we introduce the Vargas brothers! You may notice Feliciano/N. Italy is a little OC. And by a little, we mean homicidal. But you'll see more of that later on.

A note on names: **Sesel = Seychelles  
The Dragon = **A nickname for** Yao Wang/China  
**

**Chapter Summary:** The Italian brothers begin a night at The Lotus, scouting for information on Gilbert's murder. Their bodyguard, Antonio, spends his evening getting close to Francis instead.

Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia.

* * *

Chapter 8: The Lotus

The Lotus is Yao Wang's club; a pulsing, thriving place by the edge of the district. It serves as the legitimate side of his business, though the man himself is not often in residence. Despite its legal front, it is a popular place for illicit encounters, completed under the cover of black lights and music. The dealers make easy business with club-goers who are looking to make a good night fly, and the whores do even better.

Tonight Francis and Sesel are there, dressed to entice and promoting the Rainbow. It's the first time Francis has been out in a week, and he had to _beg_ Liza to let him go. He's still sore from the attack and feeling ill from the withdrawal, but staying in his room made him brood. Brooding meant he was also thinking, and he doesn't like the places his mind has been wandering. He's determined to keep his promise to Kiku and remain sober, so he will distract himself in other ways. Francis can still dance with a broken wrist and a few bruises.

At another entrance to the club, a very different set are preparing for their night. The Vargas brothers, Lovino and Feliciano, like to mix business and pleasure. With any luck they will be able to catch a worthwhile rumor, spot a debtor, or ensnare a new 'associate.' They are in the business of making deals with the desperate and, in this city, there is _always _someone desperate.

The Italians do not often travel alone. Antonio, Lovino's bodyguard, is a familiar presence, but tonight they have Sadik with them as well. They're keeping an eye on him; the police cleared him of Gilbert's murder for now, but that does little to increase their confidence in the thug. Who can trust a mask?

"Would you just shut _up_ about your fucking hair? God, it's not like I pulled it out," says Toni. Lovi's been sassing about how messy Toni made his hair during the quickie they had on the way over. In a minute he may strangle the kid. But when he spots Francis in the distance, the argument no longer matters. He grins, trying to calculate a way to slip over to the bar.

"Your hair looks good Lovi! You shouldn't be so mean to Toni, not when he's keeping us safe." Feliciano catches his brother around the shoulders before he can keep arguing with his bodyguard/sometimes-lover. The night is young and they always have a good time at the club. Mr. Wang is no friend of theirs, but he's got no reason to harm them. Then again, with what happened to Gilbert they need to be careful.

Lovi scowls and brushes him off. "So what? Look at him - eyes already wandering after that fucking _whore_!"

"Hey!" Toni glares at him, his temper already flaring. He curls his fists and steps back to keep from laying hands on his employer - and not in a good way. "You fuckin' call him that again, and I'll show you a whore. I'll _make_ you a whore." No one says an unkind word about Francis. Not to Toni. Not even Lovino.

Lovi shoves him hard. "You wanna _try_? See what happens to you! Besides, it's not like it isn't true."

The Spaniard catches Lovi by the shirt, drawing him up and growling into his face. There's fire between them, and sometimes it only takes a little spark to start a fight (or something else). "Don't think I'm scared of you, Lovi. Never have been, never will be." His eyes fall to the man's lips. How they always slide from hate to lust is beyond him.

Sadik rolls his eyes. Only Toni can say something like that to Lovino Vargas without losing a limb. And only Lovi can badmouth Francis without getting any bones broken. They're quite the pair. He's just glad to be here, instead of alone in a jail cell. That business with Hera and the Beilschmidts was bad for him. He knows the reason the Italians are keeping him around is to make sure he's not playing them. He scans the room. Wang isn't around tonight; that, at least, is good news. They don't need a confrontation right now.

"That's enough. Unless you want a real big smile, you'll let go and behave." Feliciano grins, cocking his head to the side. He doesn't like how rough Toni gets with his brother, when Toni's supposed to be the body guard. "It's party night! Have a good time. If you want to see Francis, he's right over there. We're going to dance!" He grabs Lovi before there can be any protests and drags him to the bar. Drinks before dancing. Lovi's more fun when he's a little tipsy.

Watching Lovi get drawn away makes Toni want to pull him right back. Kid is sexy when he's that pissed off. But Feli mentions Frannie, and he has to grin, heading toward the opposite end of the bar.

Sesel's eyes scan the club, looking for viable customers. Over there John is dancing with Jane. They're always fun. Maybe she can slide in there. And there's Jon buying drinks for his buddies. And Juan, making eyes at her from the dance floor. Ew. Anyone but Juan tonight. "Frannie, baby, do me a favor? Tell me what you think Jon's buddies have in their wallet tonight?" Francis can spot money from a mile away. If he says they have enough for her, maybe she'll go make some new friends.

Francis follows her nod, narrowing his eyes. There's a baggie in Jon's hand. Candy, by the looks. Well, the Dragon's kind of candy. He shakes his head. "They've already got their party for the night. He can't hold his drink anyway."

John and Jane it is. But before Sesel can freshen her lipstick, a welcome sight approaches the bar. She loves flirting with Toni. Everybody knows he's all about Francis, but he treats them all so sweetly.

"So this is where the heavenly bodies hang out?" Toni grins.

"Toni!" Sesel leans over, kissing his cheek and pressing her chest to his for an over-long moment. "It's been a while!"

"Too long, hermosa." He kisses her cheek, sliding between the two lovely creatures and dropping his arms around both of them. He leans over to plant his lips on Frannie's cheek as well, staying there just a little longer than he did with Sesel. "Drinks? Yo, Bartender! Margaritas! Hurry up!"

Francis smiles. He loves it when Toni comes to the club, it's always far more pleasant than dealing with strange hands all over him. "And where are your boys?"

"Dancing," Toni says, his tone slightly harder than it was. When Francis is in his arms, he does _not_ want to think about Lovi. He recovers himself quickly and leans over to tug Sesel's pigtail. "All the better for me. Te ves bien, Sessie. That dress could make a grown man cry."

Sesel smirks, her hand sliding up the buttons of Toni's shirt, tempting him. "That's the goal. You look good yourself, Toni." It's a lost cause. Everyone knows there is only one, maybe two people in the world that could truly win Toni the Spaniard, and neither of them have breasts. "I'll go grab the drinks," she offers, sliding away so that Frannie can make his play. He deserves a little happiness after the nightmares of the past few weeks. Even if Gilbert was a bastard; she'd seen the aftermath of his visits enough times to know that 'rough' was a serious understatement. That did not change or cheapen the way Francis felt.

Francis smirks, not at all worried by Sesel's flirting - or anyone else's, for that matter. He knows Toni's got a thing for Lovino, but it's the kind of relationship based in power and violence. He lets his hand wander over Toni's leg, leaning in close even though he's looking at a different gentleman - Jack, if he recalls correctly. He needs to keep up appearances, after all, and at least pretend to look for other customers. "It _is_ good to see you."

"It's good to see you too, cuchura," Antonio says, letting his hand slide up Francis' thigh as he presses closer to whisper in his ear. "Tu me vuelves loca, Frannie. Quiero hacerte l'amor. Se mio esta noche. Te necesito..." He murmurs the sweet words into his ear, using the proximity to nip at it fondly, knowing exactly how his Spanish can affect the man. He's already moaning. "Necesito que seas mio..." [1, 2, 3]

Francis practically melts against him. He can't help it; Toni has sparked something in him since the moment they met. Frannie has a habit of falling hard and fast, but this one is something special. He tilts his head, letting Toni taste his neck. "I love the sound of your voice, mon amour. Your accent, your taste, every part of you." God, Spanish. He always thought his French was supposed to be the language of romance. But on Toni's lips, Spanish is all he wants to hear.

Oh, Francis is in his arms, making him grin. He could have this man anywhere, any time, and it would be the best fuck of his life all over again. He wants to seduce him tonight, wants to make him _want_ sex, so badly that he begs for it and means it. Toni kisses his neck, biting it, his hand dipping between Frannie's thighs to wake the hardness already there. "I love the feel of you. I want to make you come right here, just listening to me."

Francis squirms in the seat, wanting very much to do just that. However, this is work, and Bernie's given him rules. "Toni...oh, I want to. But you know I must be careful." He picks up Toni's hand and stands instead, pulling the man with him. "Dance with me."

Toni grins anyway, tugging Frannie to his body and pressing his lips against his ear. "I'll pay twice as much to cuddle with you. We can cuddle, right? I just can't let you come," he teases, his hand sliding low down Francis' back as he grinds with him.

Together they sway to the music, and Francis reaches back to caress Toni's arm. The song has a low, sexy tone and a smooth beat. It suits Toni, it suits their mood. "For you, my darling, cuddling is free. Maybe a little more if you're a good boy. But what about _your_ boss?" He scans the crowd for Lovi, and finds him and Feliciano dancing with several very pretty girls. Sadik is watching from the shadows, arms crossed. It makes him laugh.

Toni breathes out against his ear, low and sultry. "I don't give a fuck about anyone but you. You know that, right?" His lips press against that golden skin for a second before he whispers, "I want to pay you for the chance to suck your cock, until you're a breath away from coming. Then pull away and rub myself off while you watch. Is that against the rules?"

Francis groans, squeezing Toni's arm. "No. But I would not want you to lose your job." He half turns, giving his lover a quick kiss and a smirk. "How else will you afford the things I'm going to do to you after that?"

Toni's not worried about losing his job. First off, Lovi would sooner kill him than fire him. Second, everyone knows he's damn good at his job - even if his loyalties are based in self-preservation. He laughs and spins Frannie against him, wrapping his arms around him so that he can move against his body. "I can always become a whore. Liza always said she'd kill to have me."

Francis chuckles, goosing him fast before his hands return to more innocent places. "You would be a terrible prostitute. The sex you do very well; but you would not like sharing so much. Nor do you _ever_ do as you're told."

"Mmm..." Toni gooses him back, slower, rubbing his hand over the place in a naughty caress. "Then maybe I'll guard the Rainbow. Kick out any man who gets rough with you. I'd love to see how they'd pay me."

"You are very sweet, cheri," Francis says, resting against Toni's shoulder as they dance. For a moment he closes his eyes, enjoying the rock of their hips, the scent of his lover, the feel of his arms. It's like being safe at home, wrapped in a blanket. A very sexy Spanish blanket. He opens his eyes and searches over Toni's shoulder, trying to remind himself that he's working and he cannot dance with Toni all night.

Toni sighs, sensing Frannie's thoughts. His fingers move to caress his back. "Don't make me call Liza and tell her that I'm buying you for the night. I will. I miss you, caramio." He purrs the name, dancing with a slow sway of his hips that could hypnotize lesser mortals.

"You were with me last week," Francis protests. Though that is hardly fair, seeing as he barely remembers last week, or the week before. It's all a drug-induced haze, full of faces and acts that blur together like a nightmare. "But we will have tonight, now that things are better. I will take you back to my room, and we..." Just as his eyes start to slide back to Toni's, he catches a man staring at him. A large man with thick, rough hands wrapped around a beer. He stops dancing and buries his face in Toni's neck.

Toni stops too, feeling Frannie stiffen like he can't breathe. He turns his head to see where he was looking and he finds a man. He's large, with big hands and a nasty look in his eye. The Spaniard's fists curl, and he hugs Frannie to his body protectively. "Who is that?"

Francis shakes his head. It's like his throat has closed up, someone choking the breath from him, wrapping wire around his throat and pulling tight, tighter...he gasps, cold despite the heat of the bodies around him. His memory is flawed from that night, but even in its fits and starts he knows who that is. "Where's Sesel? I want to leave."

"Wait-" But Francis is rushing for the door, grabbing hold of Sesel's arm and taking her with him. Toni's eyes travel back to the man and he slowly takes stock of his appearance. Big. Mean. He looks like a bruiser, someone no one would mess with. But there's a reason people don't mess with Toni, either. _The bigger they are, the harder they fall_, he decides, looking across the club to where Frannie is fleeing. His fists curl. He will not let the man out of his sight for the rest of the night.

* * *

1 - sweetie

2 - You drive me crazy, Frannie. I want to make love to you. Be mine tonight. I need you...

3 - I need you to be mine.


	10. Ch 9: La Citta Fortunata

Holy pasta, Batman, it's a new chapter! Thank you so much to our reviewers, we absolutely love hearing from you. You'll get to see the entire casino family in this chapter, and discover why it's a bad idea to mess with the Italians.

**Chapter Summary:** Ludwig attempts to keep business running smoothly even as he deals with the loss of his family. Feliciano helps in his own (very bloody) way, while Lovino and Antonio fall into their usual argument.

Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia.

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Chapter 9: La Citta Fortunata

The idiot is wearing a red tie, which does not go with his brown suit. His cuff is unbuttoned on one sleeve, and his hair is such a mess it makes Ludwig twitch. The man looks ridiculous, which is probably how he almost got away with scamming the casino out of fifty grand.

Slowly, Ludwig Bielschmidt, otherwise known as Der Reiniger – the Cleaner, leans over the table. "You will button your sleeve," he growls, his fists clenching the metal tabletop, "you will give me back the fifty grand you FLEECED out of this casino, and you will TELL ME who you're working with. _NOW_."

The idiot laughs and buttons up his cuff, which makes Ludwig feel a little better. But then he keeps on laughing without telling him what he wants to know. Ludwig grasps that red tie and _yank_s the man's head into the table, cracking it against the metal. Even that doesn't seem to help. The man simply shakes it off and grins at him, spouting some crap about honor among thieves.

Cursing again, Ludwig continues his work, torturing, threatening, yanking out his gun and demanding. Still the man is fearless. Dammit. He doesn't want to have to do this; he is tired of cleaning up bodies. He thought he could _save_ this little rat. But it appears he has no choice.

"You will tell me what I need to know," he warns in a low, grave tone, "or I will call the Vargas brothers."

The stupid man chuckles to himself. The Vargas brothers? Those little pieces of fluff that float around town in friggin' stretch limos, like they're too princely to walk? After all the abuse, he'd expected something a little scarier. Spitting blood, he grins at Der Reiniger and remains utterly silent.

One floor below, said Italians are just returning from their night out at the club. In Feliciano's opinion, the night was a fantastic success. There had been lots of pretty boys and girls to play with, even after poor Frannie and Sesel left. There were even more people to entice for a game of chance. Feli smirks at the thought; he and his brother always win.

The Vargas family used to win more when the casino was in its glory days, and solidly in the hands of their family. But ever since their grandfather Roma died, the Beilschmidts have technically owned La Citta. It got worse when they lost the horse track about four years back. Now they make most of their money solving "problems" - and if you don't pay up, you _become_ a problem.

Lovino shakes his head. In his opinion, the party was stupid. Not enough people for them to con. Not enough intimidation. Worst of all, his stupid fucking bodyguard just disappeared on them. "_Damn _Toni," he mutters, as he has for most of the night. "Who needs that idiot anyway? We've got Saddy. Never mind that he was arrested a couple weeks back for killing Gil, Hans, and Hera."

Feli waves his hands in protest. "Don't say things like that! Sadik was released, so he…didn't do it for certain." He lowers his voice, glancing back the way they came. They left Sadik to watch the back door. "We've got eyes on him anyway, so we weren't really alone."

Lovi rolls his eyes. "Of course not. And the Dragon had eyes on us all night long, so we come full circle. I'm only saying Gil's dead, and I don't want to be next."

His brother grins. "That, and you don't like to see Toni running after Francis instead of you."

"Shut up!"

The moment they step into the next hall, they can hear Ludwig's had different sort of night. He's already yelling at some fool, his big, deep voice coming through the reinforced steel of one of their rooms for extra-special guests. The walls are nice and thick, and easy to clean. The brothers share a glance. "Think Luddy needs some help?" asks Lovi.

Feli knocks once, just to be sure they aren't coming in at a bad time. "Lu-ddy! Can Lovi and I come in and play? Lovi didn't have a good time at the party."

Ludwig sighs, pressing his hands to his temples and finally turning away from the idiot to look toward the door. Damn. His eyes squeeze shut and sighs again. "Ja, ja. I will leave you to it. Ah..." He looks toward the man, shaking his head. "Please, this time, a little less blood?"

Lovi laughs and shoves his way into the room. "You have to be kidding me! You'll have your answers and be grateful you got them."

"That's not very nice, Lovino." Feliciano frowns. Their guest is already bloody and bruised. It looks like his nose is broken, but the jaw, thankfully, is working fine. Feli's had to have words with Luddy before about breaking jaws when interrogating people.

He steps over to the man, slowly pulling off the man's tie and undoing the first buttons of his shirt. It's a nice shirt. No need to get it really dirty. "Luddy, you've made such a mess already! Poor thing, he didn't deserve all that!" Feli tosses his shirt to Ludwig, smiling now and bobbing his head as he sing-songs: "Luddy's mean, mean Luddy, mean Luddy!"

Ludwig groans softly, and not just at the stupid song - which will probably be sung all week for his benefit. Watching Feliciano pull off that idiot's shirt and tie has his pants feeling a little tight. He's always had a thing for watching, and Feli knows it. It's probably why he's being so... Forward.

"I'll just..." He rubs his face, trying to snap out of it. He's in _mourning_ for fuck's sake. He shouldn't be thinking about sex. In fact, he shouldn't be thinking about anything.

He leaves fast, bypassing them both and heading to VIP lounge where Toni is playing cards with a couple of very cute young - probably _very_ young - boys, making them giggle. His heart isn't in it, but one must keep up appearances, even if they are bad ones. He slides in next to the cute blonde one and smiles at him stiffly. "What're we playing?"

The boy blinks up at Big Strong Hot Blonde Guy with doe eyes that make him look absolutely adorable, and he knows it. "I don't know. He hasn't told us."

Toni shuffles the cards and grins sharklike at the brunette sitting next to him, opposite Ludwig. He arrived back an hour ago, after he finally lost track of the bastard who hurt Frannie. There was never a good opportunity to take him out; the man always had friends with him, or somewhere to go. When Toni does get a hold of him, he wants to take his time. Maybe he should have gone back to find Lovi at the club, but he figured it was a bit late for that.

"We caught these two with fake IDs downstairs," he explains to Ludwig. "I figure, if they can beat me at cards, we should give 'em a free pass." His hand trails low, dragging over the brunette's hip.

Ludwig almost rolls his eyes. The only people who beat Toni at cards are the ones he _wants_ to beat him. These cute little things are being set up, and enjoying every minute of it. "Fair enough. Deal me in." He tries on a looser smile, which seems to be particularly effective on the blonde, who is close to crawling in his lap anyway. What is it with these ripe little things? He never asks for them - they _come_ to him, like he has some sort of cute little boy pheromone. Hell, Feli just walked up to him in the casino one day and kissed him senseless, and he's been here ever since. "So why on _earth_ would you two want to sneak in here? Does it look that exciting from the outside?"

The brunette boy hums, stretching his arms out and relaxing into the booth, careful to make sure every point of his side lines up against Toni's. "It _is_ exciting. I mean, look! We're being held hostage by gorgeous men."

The blonde giggles, skimming his fingers up to lock with Ludwig's. "What more could we ask for? I'd say we're getting off easy."

Ludwig shakes the hand loose, looking back from whence he came. God, that poor soul. Shuddering, he relents to allow the blonde a place against his side. "Ah - I don't think that's..."

Toni grins even wider, though it's more of a predatory grin. His mind is other places. He should check on Frannie; every time he thinks of the way Frannie was shaking in his arms, it makes his blood boil. He called when he got back, but Sesel answered. She said that she and Kiku were looking after him, but Toni still feels like he needs to go over. Once he's done eating these cupcakes for breakfast. "What he means is, you're not getting 'off' until we do. Right, Luddy?"

Ludwig blushes a little as the boys laugh. He accepts his cards and tries to put a little distance between himself and this blonde piece of flypaper. "Ah..."

"Oh. Plans. Right." Toni smirks, leaning down to tap the brunette's nose before reaching for the blonde. "Guess it's just me, boys. Hope you don't mind."

The blonde smirks back coyly, sliding onto Luddy's lap as though he's moving to get out of the booth. But he stays there, staking a claim, sitting in just the right place to tease. "Oops. I guess I'm stuck. Looks like you won't be going anywhere." He grins, using all his charm.

Ludwig resists the urge to roll his eyes. He drops his hand and pushes the boy off, sliding over to sit where he was. "I really do have plans." _'You are an absolute idiot, Toni,'_ he wants to snap at him. But he can't, because they're both grieving, and when you're grieving you do stupid shit. Like bring home jailbait and try to pawn it off on your superiors.

Even through three doors and down a long hallway, they hear a man _shrieking_. "I SWEAR! I swear that's all I know! PLEASE!"

Luddy winces, slowly sliding out of the booth and rubbing a hand over his temple. "Excuse me." He hurries out of their lounge and back to the side hallway. At the door, he waits a moment before knocking very lightly, clearing his throat. "Finished?"

The door slides open, revealing a giggling Feliciano. He sometimes wishes people would get in trouble more often, just so he could play with them. He always likes to make their guests happy in the end. Everyone should go out with a smile! "All done! Our money's still safely stowed at an apartment. We'll send someone over. He was working for that stupid little boss who thinks he can play with us."

Lovino holds up a fist full of fingernails. "We're sending him these. A little present for our amico!"

Ludwig marvels at the handiwork, and of course at Feli, who looks happier than he's seen him in weeks. Their 'guest' is a bloody mess, but still alive. He looks like he's ready for someone to just shoot him. Ah well. Whatever makes Feli happy, he will see to. As long as it doesn't involve getting blood on his suit. "I think he'll enjoy them." Ludwig smiles, and this time it's not tight, not stiff. It's real. It's good to see them so happy. "Should I call for dinner?"

"PASTAAAA!" Feli claps his hands. "Hooray!"

They walk back down the hall and enter the VIP room, heading for their private lounge. It's a suite within a suite, a room with reinforced, bullet-proof walls and bolts on the door, and plenty of hidden routes outside and up to their apartments. It's a comfortable place – well, comfortable if you're a Vargas or a Beilschmidt, or one their current list of friends. Even those friends shouldn't get _too _comfortable.

The moment they walk in Lovino catches sight of his bodyguard-lover-thing toying with not one but _two_ boys. Damnit. He was feeling so much better, and now...well. At least he has a few idiots to take it out on.

"YOU BASTARD!" He stomps over to the table, fist still filled with bloody fingernails and his other hand clutching one of his favorite knives. "I spend the night working, you fucking up and _leave, _and I find you here toying with these little PUTTANE?!" [1]

The boys shriek in unison, cowering around Toni like he's their only hope for survival. Toni drops his arms around the boys and pulls them into his arms. "Chill out, Lovi." He rolls his eyes, smirking just a little at the way he looks, all irate, stomping and yelling, covered in blood... His eyes pop wide open. Oh Dear Sweet Jesus, since when does he find that shit attractive? That's so sick. God, he needs therapy. "I told you I had something to take care of. Got done a little early, found these boys downstairs and thought we could give 'em a break. We're just playing cards. Hey." He wiggles his eyebrows. "You can join us if you want. Now, or later."

Lovi dumps the nails on the table, right across the cards. "There's my wager." He grabs the blonde by the hair, dragging him out of the booth and putting the knife against his neck. "Here's yours. You still want to play with me, you little shit?" He spits it into the boy's ear.

"OhMyGod, OHMYGOD!" The boy's screaming, practically weeping, begging for his life. "Please, please don't hurt me! OhMyGod, I wasn't even _INTO_ him! I swear! Oh My God!"

Toni rolls his eyes, releasing the cowering brunette to slide over to Lovi. "Don't be such a brat." He thwacks him hard upside the head and takes the knife away, grabbing the blonde by the back of his shirt and tossing him away too. "You're just jealous. Admit it. Hey, if you want me, you might as well say so."

Lovi scowls and shoves Toni hard, knocking him into the table. "You only fuck whores. And only Gilbert fucked you. Everybody knows that." Except that sometimes he and Toni had sex too, like on the way over to the club. But that was hardly the point.

Toni rolls his eyes, watching the boys flee with no little disappointment. "Maybe if you told me you want me, I'd fuck you more often." He laughs callously, reaching out and stealing Lovi's bloody hand, yanking him on the table beneath him. "I'm not the type to waste a convenient ass."

"Funny," growls the Italian, "you happen to be a most inconvenient ass." He's got his knife back, and holds it under Toni's chin. "Some body guard. Where the fuck were you tonight?"

Toni laughs at the knife, almost kinda into it. He's not sure why. Probably another thing that makes him sick. "Like you needed a bodyguard in there. The guy was a worm. It is 'was,' right?" His hand slides up to grip Lovino's chin, dragging him up for a kiss that presses the knife urgently against his skin. But the kiss is too good. They kiss _damn_ good together. Almost as good as he and Frannie do.

Kissing isn't fair, in Lovi's opinion. Stupid sexy bastard. He should stab through his throat and be done with it. But he can't, because of all the people in the world he likes this one best, second to Feliciano. And Hans. If he ever finds out who did in the old man, he's going to rip out their guts and feed them to the dogs. He pulls away. "It's 'is.' Might need him. And I meant at the party, stupid. I kept getting groped!"

Toni offers his shaky grin again, splaying him out on the table and reaching back to squeeze his ass. "Serves you right. Your ass is too fine not to grope. Convenient _and_ fine. Want me to kiss it better?"

Lovi flips him off. It's his own special brand of "fuck you," because he's missing the middle finger of his right hand. It was once sent to his grandfather, the late Roma Vargas, as a present. He likes taking fingernails much better. It's more painful, in many ways, because the process takes so much longer.

Toni smirks just a little, inclining his head and raising his eyebrows in challenge. But here is not the place. "C'mon." He slides off the table, taking that ever-marred hand and dragging him up to the office, where there is a couch they've utilized many a time.

Ludwig smiles, steering Feli clear of the scene and taking him down the back staircase, through the kitchen, and back up another set of stairs hidden behind a cupboard. Their living quarters have been kept in utmost secrecy. His hand squeezes Feli's hip, ignoring the fact that his clothes are drenched in blood - at least, he's trying to. "What kind of pasta do you want, Feli?"

Feliciano's smile goes lecherous, but he keeps his hands to himself. He has to wash off first, or Ludwig will not do anything with him at all. "Mm, the big, thick kind. With some wurst and alfredo sauce."

"Strange combination." Ludwig laughs a little, letting go to move behind him, wandering up the stairs close to his back. He can't help it. Can't even wait. His hands slide up to cover Feli's eyes, and he presses completely against his back, whispering low and throaty in his ear. "Now, two more steps, and you can open the door. But I want you to close your eyes and keep them closed, verstehen?" [2]

Feli grins. It _must_ be a good surprise if Luddy is willing to risk getting blood on his clothes. "Okey dokey Luddy!" He hopes it's a nice surprise anyway. Luddy has been so sad since his big brother died. Feli understands; he'd be very upset if Lovino died too! And he is sad about Gilbert, who was entertaining and loud and fun. But life moves on. It always does. He's lost his parents (though not to death), his grandfather, and now Gilbert and Hans too. Hans was like his hero. That terrifying time when Lovi lost his finger and he lost his mind (so they say), in the end Hans was the one to ride in like a bloody knight, taking heads as he went before carrying them back home. Everything changes, everything passes. They can't sit still for long, or they'll lose what's left.

Ludwig presses his body in tight against his lover's back. He pushes a hand past Feli to get the door open and walk him inside. There, on their walls, are pictures. Everywhere. Pictures of them, from the lurid to the simple and sweet; from the night they had together in Cancun when Feli blindfolded him and used knives, to the day they went on a picnic and shared a slice of tiramisu.

The biggest takes up the wall above their bed. It's a picture he'd searched all the tabloid archives to find – the one a young celebrity photographer took one night in the casino, when Ludwig had only been there to do a deal with his grandfather's favorite godsons and wound up falling into the rest of his life. There they were, Feli's arms wrapped tight around his neck, his mouth latched to his, his own eyes popped wide open in shock. Their first kiss. The moment they met.

"It's the anniversary," he smiles, pulling Feliciano close, trying to remind himself that he has plenty of suits and only one moment like this, "of our first kiss."

As soon as the hands are off his eyes, Feli is struck utterly speechless. That is a very rare thing indeed. He stares around, from all their various exploits (there were often camera's involved; Luddy liked to watch, he didn't mind showing off), to the simple ones of them cooking pasta. He notes a few pictures that include Gilbert, or others who have been lost, and his throat tightens. But it tightens more at the fact that Ludwig actually remembered. He has to admit, while he's sure to recall their official anniversary and birthdays, this is unexpected. "Luddy..."

Ludwig laughs a little, his heart leaping and his stomach clutching at the reaction. "You sound surprised." He's glad. He wanted this to be something for them, something to make them feel together. After Gil and his grandfather, he'd been drifting in the darkest water, on the darkest night, with no sign of land. He still is, even now. But he sees the light in the darkness that's been calling for him since that night. He hopes this is a step in the right direction. He wants more than anything to give Feliciano something beautiful, if he can't give him his whole self anymore. "I love you. I wanted you to know. I still do. Always."

Feli takes Ludwig's hand and squeezes it, turning to face him. The pictures are wonderful, but not nearly so wonderful as the man himself. He's gone through all this trouble, even when he's grieving for all that remained of his immediate family. Really, Feli feels he should have been the one doing more for him. He's been trying - cooking, holding him, keeping his distance when it seemed like that's what he wanted. But he can't believe all of this. He can't stay away anymore. He pulls him in and hugs him tight. "Te amo, Luddy! For always."

Ludwig makes a sound, slightly irked at the way his suit is now matted with blood. There are other suits. He doesn't need this one. "I'm glad." He smiles, reaching down and taking Feli's chin to pull him into a heady, delicious kiss - one so good that it makes his toes curl in their boots and his blood simmer with heat. That is, until he feels Feli's hands sliding down to his belt. "Ah- Feli..." His hand shoots up, pressing him away and stepping back.

That kiss was better than their first one, only because Luddy was kissing back freely, pressing into him. Feli had taken that as a sign to send his hands trailing lower, blood quickly heating. But then...Luddy is backing away. That's _not_ the sign he wants. He tries not to pout. "What's the matter?" There are pictures of them making love _everywhere_, so clearly he cannot have forgotten how.

"I wanted to... Ah..." Luddy looks down, blushing slightly, unsure of how to speak with the way Feli is pouting without pouting. "I wanted to let you know that... that I still love you. But. I don't know if I'm ready."

He half turns, looking toward one of the photos on their wall. They are sleeping, curled into each other, covered in last night's mess. A little blurry splotch is at the top right, the only sign that there was anyone else in the world at that moment. His brother, who took the picture without them knowing. His fingers reach out, brushing over the frame. "I want to but my heart is broken."

Seeing Ludwig like that nearly breaks Feli's heart too. He likes sex a lot, and if he doesn't get to do it with Luddy soon he will probably end up at the Rainbow, or just finding someone to play with at a party. Luddy is the one he really wants, though. He is willing to give him time, give him almost anything. Looking around, he can understand how hard this must have been for Ludwig. A lot of these pictures were taken by Gilbert, and some even include him. He tries to imagine what it would be like if Lovino died. It's a sobering thought.

He wraps his arms around Ludwig, pressing close but only hugging. "Okay Luddy. You can'a tell me when. We can start slow; watch a movie together? One of _our_ movies, with just us."

Luddy smiles sadly, turning around and wrapping his arms around Feliciano's waist. His heart wrenches, but he has to offer. He wants Feli happy, and he knows Feli does not go very long without. If he hasn't had sex with someone else already, it's a miracle. But the thought of it is more unsettling than leaving the Vargas brothers alone in a room with a couple card counters and a box of knives. "I thought, maybe, you would want... I..." He sighs, reaching up and sliding a hand over his cheek. "I called Rainbow's, and Roderick is waiting downstairs. I know how much you miss it." He swallows, his stomach twisting. "I don't mind."

Feli shakes his head, nuzzling against Luddy's neck. He always smells good. Like wood and beer, and something sweet that is unique to him. Sometimes he wants to bottle up that smell and put it everywhere. He wouldn't sell it; it would make millions, he's sure, but he's much too selfish. He wants Ludwig all to himself. Especially right now. "No, Luddy. It's our kiss-iversary, si? I want to stay with you. We can kiss, right? You can even tie my hands so I don't get too tempted!"

Butterflies erupt inside. Ludwig takes his chin and pulls him into a heavy, easy kiss, slowly dragging him toward their bed. "Kissing is alright. So is a little more than kissing. Just a little." His mind agrees with the vagueness of that statement completely. Just a little. As long as there's more.

* * *

1 – whores (Italian)

2 – understand (German)


	11. Ch 10: Coffee

Hello lovelies! We have something exciting for you - NEW ART! Check it out on tumblr (twoscarypandas DOT tumblr DOT com/tagged/sketch). There will be more of it over the next few weeks, with any luck!

**Warning**: Heavy mentions of drugs, some drug use. Very mild, non-explicit sex.

**Chapter Summary:** Matthew introduces himself undercover to the drug dealer, Holly, and both of them are startled by their sudden attraction. At the Rainbow, Francis and Arthur share a good time that could prove very enlightening for Francis.

Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia.

* * *

Chapter 10: Coffee

Arthur had absolutely flipped on Matthew and Alfred after they returned from taking Francis home. Even though they'd sworn it was all in the name of protecting the innocent, Artie was pissed. High, too, Mattie could tell, though he was quite sure Alfred couldn't. It made it difficult to argue with his plan that they split up, after taking a few days to get the layout of the area. Tonight Alfred is at Vodka Now! checking out the Braginskis and their crowd, while Arthur is at the brothel 'asking some questions'. Matthew has a feeling one of those questions will be '_How much?_'

He himself is not far from the Rainbow. He's been walking through a maze of back alleys, keeping a low profile and doing his best to ignore everyone - the homeless, the prostitutes, the nutcases, the thugs lying in wait. It's a good thing he's nearly invisible; forgettable. He's looking for a dealer called Holly, who, according to Artie, knows just about everything that goes on in the district. He can't pose as an addict, he knows an experienced eye will catch his lie instantly. He can, however, pose as a good boy gone bad, looking for a better party.

Holly's been hanging out in front of this Austrian-style cafe a little too much lately, listening to the music and poetry drifting outside. He should probably change his location, but something about it soothes him, makes him feel both at home and alive - the soft whispers instead of loud, thumping music and screams of the club and the casino. The poetry. The music.

_"What's it all about, Alfie?"_ a girl sings, playing a piano. _"Is it just for the moment we live? What's it all about, when you sort it out, Alfie? Are we meant to take more than we give?"_ Stupid or brilliant, he can't decide. Sometimes he wonders if maybe humans are born to be tempted. Sometimes he wonders if they're just born because everybody needs somebody else.

Mattie rounds a corner, and suddenly the street opens up. There are shops here, and a higher class of customers. At the least, they've had showers within the past week. There's a man outside one of the cafes, and he instantly knows this is the one: blonde, spiked hair, a long brown coat, a scarf striped blue-and-white, and an air about him that says he's seen it all. He walks over and leans against the wall next to his table "You're Holly?"

Holly whips around, looking the new presence up and down, assessing, cataloging, trying to figure out which category he fits into. Good boy gone bad? Maybe. But those are some eyes for a good boy. "I don't know. Am I?"

He managed to surprise him. It seems to Mattie that such a thing might be counted in his favor. He tries to adopt a 'bored-with-the-world-look', and assesses him again. "Maybe not. It isn't Christmas, and that's the only time I've seen holly around."

Holly's lips twitch a little. Smart-aleck. _"And if only fools are kind, Alfie, then I guess it is wise to be cruel..."_ the woman nearly moans her sad realizations from inside the cafe. He isn't sure if he agrees or not. This kid is making him believe it. "Maybe you're looking for the wrong kind of holly." He sips his coffee. He can only drink coffee at night. Go figure.

Mattie takes a breath. He's got to keep cool, even though it is _really_ hard for him not to stutter. This is a stranger, a dangerous stranger, yet also quite a lovely one. He tries not to blush. "I hear you've got a lot of different kinds."

Holly lets his smile fall, like it wasn't really there. He sits back slowly and drops his hands behind his head, almost reclining in the chair. "I think you should join me for coffee."

Mattie nods, taking the seat next to him, not across from him. He's done this before. Never quite like this, but he knows how it works; it's much easier to trade things when you can just slip your hand into the other person's pocket. "Is the coffee here any good?"

"Fair. The music's better." He slides away a little, somewhat wary. The boy is something different. That makes him nervous. He smells something off, but he's willing to play a little, if only because he always feels something off when he lands a new client. He constantly fears a set-up. "So. ID?"

Mattie raises an eyebrow. "What for? Didn't think you'd like details." At least, he has never yet met the dealer who did. Plausible deniability; if you don't know their name, haven't seen their face for more than a moment, and they turn up dead of an OD you might not have been involved. Plus, money is money. He pulls a bit of cash from his pocket, as though counting through how much he'll need for a coffee. Granted, this much would get him _several_ cups and a box of donuts.

Holly smiles a little. Most dealers don't, if only to keep themselves out of other people's habits. But he needs them. He needs a grasp on the new ones - mostly so he can find them again if something goes down. He needs to make sure everything's legit, and nobody's got a badge. He's _very_ careful with new blood. "With all due respect, pretty boy, I don't get screwed on the first date."

"Too bad." Matthew says it without thinking, and it takes all his will power not to clamp both hands over his mouth. He struggles to keep cool. At least Vosh set them up with regular IDs. He's got a driver's license with a fake last name and a picture of him as a civilian.

_Well_ then. Holly raises an eyebrow. Such cheek from cherubic lips is _very_ enticing. But, that thought should stay slotted for some other moment, some lonely night in his apartment when he has nothing to satisfy him. Maybe this one's a little more interesting than he originally thought. Matthew Kirk. Cute. "Well. Been burned before, you understand." He returns the ID.

Mattie does understand. Though for him, the burning is usually less about being remembered, and more about being forgotten. It's useful now, but not so pleasant when everyone is cheering for Alfred and calling him a hero when Mattie was with him the _whole_ time, keeping him from doing something stupid. Like going to that party the night before exams, or eating only burgers, or not eating at all when the burgers he did have finally added up, or making a damn stupid show-offy play in baseball, or...well, the list goes on for years and years. "Yeah. Apparently there's a lot of that going around. All I hear is people talking shit about some poor bastards that got shot."

Holly chuckles. "Poor bastards... not exactly right. Those three may be better off dead these days." He sips his coffee, watching the boy out of the corner of his eye. Well, that perked him right up. Time to change the subject, see if he tries to reel it back. You can always tell a cop when they get too interested in small-talk. "So. You like flavored coffee? Got a favorite?"

Now they're getting into the real game. Holly appears to be a pro, but for a rookie, Mattie isn't too bad at this part. He's shy, but cool under pressure. It's clear that Holly knows _something_, and that's enough for the moment. He can come back later when he's not so suspicious. "Cinnamon. Makes it taste like maple syrup."

"Breakfast boy." Holly laughs a little, stowing the information in his own mental file. This one likes a little pick-me up. "I'll have to remember that. So, I guess you want a cup?" He swallows the last of his drink, setting it down. God, this one is too cute. Pretty blue eyes. He didn't realize just how blue they were. "I want another. So. How strong do you like it?"

Mattie's not sure they're talking about coffee anymore. All these dealers use different slang, and sometimes it's hard to keep up. If you get it wrong you could end up with some bad drugs, or looking like an idiot. He shrugs. "Not too strong. Just enough to wake me up."

Holly smiles a little, pulling out his phone to text Kaoru. The problem with new kids is you really have to keep your distance. This one makes him want to toss distance out the window. After they earn his trust, he can ease up. But right now, even pretty blue eyes can't turn his head from money. "There's a special inside. Go to the coffee bar and talk to my friend Kaoru. Order a pick-me-up. And a black coffee for me." The kid starts to turn away, but Holly can't help it. This one's interesting. "Go ahead and bring 'em back to the table. Maybe we got a few things to talk about."

Mattie allows himself a smile. This is going so much better than he thought. If they actually get a chance to talk, he might be able to work out a little more of what's going on. He stands, heading inside. It's not crowded or empty, and the air is filled with the tones of a piano and a pretty girl singing something sad and 'deep.' A poet's haven. The customers inside are nodding along as though the music touches their souls. He has a feeling that has more to do with what they're smoking than anything else; it's easy to see why Holly comes here.

There are two people working behind the counter, both Asian. He immediately knows Kaoru though; the name was familiar, and the face is even more so. This is Yao Wang's nephew. Vosh has had eyes on him for a while, but the boy is clever and hard to trace. This may prove a productive evening indeed. "Give me a pick-me-up, please. And a black coffee for my friend."

Kaoru got the text seconds ago, and he's not at all surprised to see the new customer is cute, blue-eyed, and sweet like syrup. His phone buzzes again and he knows it's Raiv. He's getting tired of answering. Maybe he should get a separate line for work. "Fifteen. Black coffee's on the house." He hands the boy two capped cups, one with a baggie inside, the other with pills taped to the inside of the lid. His coworker has been paid not to notice how quickly orders come up.

Mattie pays up, keeping it all observation for now. Alfred would already be trying to chat him up, or worse, calling it in to Vosh in front of _everyone_. He'd rather get more information. When does Kaoru work here? How does he come? Is there muscle around to keep things under control? Probably. He takes the cups and heads back out.

Holly's glad to see him come back, though his ass made it no chore to watch him leave. Such a cute little thing, it's no wonder he's gotten himself in trouble. The cute ones so often do. "Taste good?" He asks, reaching for his own cup as Matthew sits down again.

Mattie looks down. There's no coffee in the cup; it's not hot or heavy. He wonders what he just got, and desperately hopes Holly doesn't expect him to take it now. "We'll see."

Raising an eyebrow, Holly reaches over and pops the cap off the cup, turning it over to show off the selection brazenly as possible. "Yeah. We'll see." It's a command. They both know it. But the kid looks like he's ready to rabbit. "Show me you're not a cop."

Mattie is prepared for the question, but that doesn't stop the hot little knot from forming in his gut when it's actually asked aloud. Still he presses down the nerves, and replaces the lid. "Right. Because I'd do _so_ well chasing down thugs and leaping fences. I'm saving that. My neighbor is having a party."

That's a point Holly has to give him. But he's seen worse, been taken down by worse. Fuck, Artie was higher than a kite the first time he brought him in.

"Fine." He takes Mattie's hand, and for a moment there's no air in the world. That just makes him grip harder, his stomach jolting, as he pulls him out of his seat and into the back alley where the performers are exiting. In his own cup is a baggie with a joint in it. He pulls it out, dropping the cup and lighting up. "So give me one good reason," he takes a drag and closes his eyes, just long enough to enjoy it before letting it out again, "to trust your pretty boy good looks."

"The same reason I trust you didn't just slip me something poisonous. I get the feeling that would put a damper on business." He steals the joint from Holly's fingers, taking one drag. This he can handle. He and Alfred built up a bit of a tolerance for it back in school.

Holly smiles, shaking his head at the sight. Pretty, pretty. Leaning in, kind of squaring him into the wall, he brings his lips close enough to kiss, close enough to take a ride off his high. His lips close in and he shotguns the exhale, unable to help himself. He's ashamed to say he's closing his eyes. When he pulls back enough to make some space, he smiles, breathing out and stealing his joint back. "Hey, my spliff. I get the first take. Those are the rules; there's an _etiquette_, in case they didn't teach you that in school."

Relieved, Mattie returns the smile. He knows he is far from safe yet; this is only the first round of the game. The strange thing is, he can't wait for the next. He wants more of this man, who is far more intoxicating than any drug. It's even more of a kick than he felt meeting Francis. "Sorry; couldn't help it. Now I've got a party to get to. Maybe I'll see you around, if the coffee's worth coming back for."

_Damn_, Holly thinks. Why does he feel so sad? Why does he want to just trap him here and keep him? "Be fashionably late." He smirks, flicking ash to the ground. His arm falls, but the other stays firmly pressed into the wall above Matthew's head. "Share with me."

This is indeed going far better than Mattie thought it would. Or is it worse? He has an urge to stay, to just give in and go anywhere at all with this man. Nevertheless, he has to meet back with Alfred and Arthur. God knows he'll be the only one there on time, but _someone_ has to be. Someone needs to play by the rules, or all will turn to chaos. He draws in close, this time breathing in Holly's exhale, enjoying the gentle curl of smoke between them. "Another time. Think I'd like partying with you."

Holly doesn't want to seem too eager, or desperate, or anything along those lines. But... Oh, just _hell_. That kid has his interest in a way no one's held it before. He makes him want to chase. He already knows he'll be here nightly now, just hoping this one will come back.

He lets his arm fall, looking down at the joint between his fingers. Damn caution. Damn his itching nerves, still telling him to step back, be cool. "Another time," he agrees, stepping back and heading to his table again, trying not to look over his shoulder.

XXX

Francis' whole day had been one of successes. He'd made nearly half a grand just doing blowjobs, and he was offered double the usual rate from an eager man who wanted to cum on his face. He didn't mind that so much, though he certainly acted like he did to rack the price up. So, it seemed fairly reasonable to expect success in his appointment with Artie tonight. And after giving the cop the blowjob of his life, he already knows he can only get his way.

He keeps licking the softening cock until Artie is quite finished, then tosses the condom. "Feeling good, cheri?" He hums, kissing the cop's hipbone.

Arthur is _indeed_ feeling good, as he always does with Francis. Sad he can't expect more than his mouth tonight. "_Very_." He smirks a little, reaching out a hand and to pull Francis up his body to press a half-sloppy kiss to his mouth. The pills he took earlier have his motor skills a little off, but with the euphoria of Francis' tongue, he's fairly sure it could be the orgasm. "Always a pleasure, pet."

"I would be insulted if it weren't." Frannie reorganizes the kiss, makes it work for them. He likes Arthur sometimes. Most of the time, really, when the man isn't being a complete ass. He's not a bad lay, and he's fun to tease. Once upon a time, they might have been in love; but he's got a bad habit of falling in and out of such romances. Artie is an especially difficult case, considering all the mistakes they've made together. They're friends now, mostly to honor the memory of something that could have been beautiful if it hadn't gone so wrong.

He spreads kisses over Arthur's face, wondering if he should work him up for another round. On the other hand, he has been busy tonight, and he's getting tired and sore. It's only been a week since the...incident. His wrist is still in its sling, held tight against his chest, and the bruises have faded to an uglier shade than before. Worst of all, he's had to go through it without the drugs - except baby aspirin. Broken bones and bruises, unfortunately, are nothing new; he's lucky he doesn't scar easily, save for the ugly mark around his neck. He would take all of that over the withdraw; it was a week spent groaning, sick, and shaking in bed after he'd gotten rid of every damned pill in his room. There were moments where he'd wanted to kill himself for that, but Kiku stayed with him through the worst of it. He's still feeling the edge of it, and seeing Artie flying high has him jealous. Well, he will think of nicer things.

"Artie, I met angels the other day. Did you know there were angels here?" he asks.

Artie snorts, his head falling back and his breath coming through in laughter. "Angels?" Shaking his head slowly, he looks toward him with a smirk that was probably not at all sexy, not with how high he is right now. "Were you high when you met them, pet? Because angels haven't touched the ground here since the stone one fell off the statue in Grove Park."

"Very," Francis admits. "But they were real. I'm sure of it." His anges are the clearest part of that night. Actually, they're the clearest memory he has of the last month or so. His smile becomes dreamy, and he falls back on the pillows, petting his hand over Arthur's chest. "They were beautiful. Almost the same, they could've been brothers. One spoke French. I want to find them again."

"French?" He blinks, thinking on it. French. French, and they could've been the same. That's reminding him of something - or someone. "Huh." Cute new partner, and the handsome one that matched. Right. "Well. Funny you should mention. I got two new partners yesterday."

This is the other reason Francis likes Arthur. The man will tell him absolutely everything, and all Francis has to do is get him to a state past noticing. It's nearly unfair, since Artie gets himself most of the way there without his help. "Do tell. I always like a taste of new blue blood."

Resting one arm behind his head, Artie smiles wide. He's glad to let his thoughts stray to them, to Francis, anything but the flying green nightmare that likes to show up when he's trying to force his brain to forget. "They looked a bit alike. Blonde hair, blue eyes. The one was a bit taller, but that might've been the backbone on him. The other one's a cute little cupcake. Cupcake speaks French. Mattie." He grins at the thought. "Very cute. The other one's Alf. I don't think he speaks French. Or subtlety."

Francis leaps up, nearly throwing Artie from the bed and wrenching his arm again. He doesn't feel it; it doesn't matter. He has not forgotten their names, and never could. "Mattie and Alf? Mes anges! You know mes anges!"

What? Arthur blinks, but the world is fuzzy. What the hell? "What're you talking about?" He blinks again, dazedly. "Christ, calm down. You're killing my buzz."

He doesn't care that Arthur is a customer; he'll be back. He always comes back, even when they argue. He shakes him with his good hand, bringing him in close. When that only seems to confuse the man, he tries another tactic - one he's much better with. Laying kisses all along his jaw, nipping at his ear, hand sliding from his shoulder to his chest, Francis begins again. "Your partners. I believe they are my angels. Tell me about them, Artie. Tell me everything. Where are they from? What's their favorite flower? Do they like to kiss boys?"

Things are whirling so fast that Artie can barely concentrate on anything but the colors spinning behind his eyes, and when he can finally see again he's seeing Francis, looking very seductive as he drags his hands up his shoulders and kisses at his skin. Mmm... That's more like it. "Angels? Oh, I don't know. They're rookies. Best mates; known each other forever, from the looks. Don't think they're related, but they look it. Wouldn't be surprised if they've been kissin' _each other_."

"Keep talking, Artie, and I'll make it worth your while." He continues with the steady caress, glad he's been with this one enough times to know all the sensitive places. Like this one on the back of his neck, that with a graze of teeth should drive him mad. His own mind is whirling elsewhere, to the scent of fast food and sweet things. It should've been vomit-worthy. Instead it was heaven. For a second Frannie's gaze slides to the closet. He kept Mattie's coat by mistake, but it has kept him sane this week. He'd pulled it over himself when Kiku wasn't around, breathed in the scent, and felt a little calmer. What he would give to see them again...

Hah. Good fortune is with Arthur tonight. He settles back into bed, letting Francis do things exactly as he pleases. Wetting his lips, he continues, "Don't know why Chief Tightarse had to saddle me with them, but they're a right treat, innit? Think Mattie's been playing around undercover. Alf I know - he's been working a beat for the last five months, over on the other side of the tracks. Made a lot of friends. Those won't help 'im now, but he has a habit of makin' friends. Acts like this town isn't a wasteland; gotta love optimism, right?"

Francis hums as he sucks at Artie's neck, down his collar, and laps over a nipple. Optimism. A breath of fresh air. That's what they are. Something sweet, pretty, new, and _alive_ in a world gone dead and ugly. They make him want to hope. Francis is generally cheerful, but hope has never been with him. He puts his faith in what is right in front of him, and moans his prayers beneath the sheets. Hope abandoned him long ago; he made his own way. They all did. But there is something about this pair that makes him want to believe again, just a little bit.


	12. Ch 11: A Deal With The Devil

Chapter 11: A Deal with the Devil

Business is booming when Ivan checks the books Friday night, as expected. It is a good night, and he enjoys a large glass of vodka in celebration. That is, until a young, mean-looking piece of muscle with a distinctly Asian face slaps a red envelop on the desk and leaves without so much as a word. He opens it slowly with a penknife, removing a slip of paper that reads:

'Fool,

Advance beyond this point and I will see to it that you are left so poor that you must whore your ass for money like your slut sister. Enjoy your adorable little establishment. I am certain you are wise enough to ground your investments exactly where they are.'

Threats Ivan can handle. Physical violence is practically expected. But no one has ever declared war to him quite so eloquently, so haughtily- this is asking to have your brains handed to you in a stew. He growls low in his throat and clenches the paper. He is going to have to pay Mr. Wang a visit. He is not one for notes. No, all he has to say will be spoken in person or written in blood. He would already be on his way to the Rainbow, prepared to shove his pipe into Wang's whore of a brother, if he didn't know that the two hated one another. Leaving Kiku half dead on his doorstep would be like a present, not a warning. Besides, he likes the Rainbow and does not want to be banned.

Toris sweeps in, early and angry, ignoring the similarly angry man sitting at _Hans'_ desk to throw his things in his locker and get to work. The treatment costs. The nursing care. The attitude of all the fucking doctors, like Feliks had this coming to him, like he was such a fucking-! He tries to clear his head, stuffing the papers they gave him into his locker and slamming it shut.

Ivan comes very close to flinching when that locker slams. Interesting. He hasn't flinched from anyone besides Natalia in a long time. There is a so much potential in this one; so much frustration, so much fire and passion, usually shut away and controlled. He wants to let it all out and see what happens. For now, though, he continues to observe. He says nothing when one of the papers falls from Toris' locker to the floor, unnoticed. Whatever it is that has him so upset, it is affecting Toris' usual wariness. His guard is down tonight. Meddling drug lords or no, this might turn out to be a pleasant evening for Ivan after all.

When Toris returns to the bar Ivan shakes out the paper and takes a closer look. It is not entirely unexpected. He has heard the worry in Toris' voice when he speaks of this boyfriend, the way he smells of antiseptic and chemicals when he comes in. He guessed some time ago that the boyfriend is sick; very sick. This hospital bill is all the evidence he needs. What _do_ surprise him are the medicines listed: cocktail drugs for AIDs, treatments for cancer. Toris' boyfriend is sicker than he'd imagined (hoped). It is almost difficult to keep the smirk off his face. There is a lot of money involved here; not so much to him, but to Toris? More than he could ever hope to afford.

The bar is packed with customers, and that helps keep Toris' head focused on the important things. Earning money. Earning money for Feliks. His meds, his treatment, his place in the hospital. He smiles through everything, bolting back and forth to either end of the bar, slinging drinks, taking tips as Bella busses tables. She knows he needs the tips. Sometimes she leaves him hers, despite his protests.

In a dark corner sits Natalia, working as Ivan's eyes while he's in the back. Most of the patrons she recognizes. They're either regulars or people beholden to her dear big brother. As they should be. Everyone should love Ivan for all he does! He is caring, wise, and strong. He even picked those two little brats off the street; who could say he was without pity now? Though she knows well it was not pity that led to his wards. They are useful. Ivan never brings anyone into their family who is not useful. She's strived to make herself the most useful of all, so he doesn't need anyone else, but he never stops hunting for fresh blood. Maybe that's because so many of these idiots get themselves killed. Too stupid, too macho, too loud...speaking of. There is a face she does not know by the bar. A man with bright blue eyes and a smile that does not belong here. Her eyes narrow and she sips her drink, watching Toris serve him.

Now that he's here, Alfred understands why Arthur told him this bar was, like, _the_ place to be for the Russian set. The guys here are a wild bunch, but they apparently like to party with their crowd, and specifically their leader. The bartender's cute, too. Like, cupcake cute. He salutes him with his glass, earning only a frown. "Thanks bud!"

Natalia watches like a spider on her web, waiting for the fly to entrap itself a little further. He doesn't belong, that is certain, but why he is here...that remains to be seen. There are plenty who come looking for Ivan, hoping for a deal. Others are looking for trouble. She almost hopes it's the second one.

Out of the corner of his eye Toris also watches the charmer at the bar chat up a few henchmen types. He's pretty: blonde hair, blue eyes, and a smile that says he knows how awesome he really is. What's he doing in a dump like this? _Oh_. For a moment he freezes, thinking about it, pretending he's pulling bottles from the cooler. He looks back toward the guy's reflection. Oh yeah. That's a cop if he ever saw one.

He drops the beers on the counter and pours another vodka, wondering if he should just let whatever happens happen. But... Fuck. This is his living. He brings the bottle to the back, leaning over Ivan's desk to top off his glass. "There's a cop at the bar," he says softly, swallowing a little and jolting his gaze back to the crowd.

Ivan glances up. He's been balancing his books against the bill, trying to weigh the cost. This will not be a cheap bargain, but it is not the biggest he has ever made. It all depends on how much Toris is worth. "How do you know? There are always cops in here. Most of them are fools."

Toris breathes in slowly, taking in the scent of vodka and something else. Something that makes his blood feel sharp and hot. He has to lean back. "Self-important fool, yeah. But he's new. He's got the good-guy stars in his eyes - you can tell." He crosses his arms over his chest, wary at the thought of going down for something just because he works for a snake. "He's not one of yours."

It is difficult for Ivan not to smile. This is _exactly_ what he needs; the details, but only the ones that matter. Toris even came in without a word from Ivan telling him to watch for cops. Time to make his wager. He stands, casually heading toward the bar. "I will see if he needs dealing with. Thank you." Before he leaves completely, Ivan pauses, not quite looking back. "Oh and Toris? You dropped something. It is on my desk. I am thinking we need to have a talk, da?"

Toris frowns, turning back to the desk as Ivan leaves. Papers liter it, but only one has the blue and white edging of the bill stationary Mercy uses. He picks it up between his trembling fingers. Shit. Shit _fuck_. He pales at the sight of the bill, of everything on it, staring in horror as he realizes this one doesn't just list the chemo costs. "Fuck." He curses, dropping the paper and pressing his lips together, wondering if he should sit down or get back to work.

Natalia scuttles over to Ivan as soon as he appears from his office. She leans in close, using the excuse of her secret to give him a much more intimate embrace than he generally allows. She can almost taste the skin of his ear. "There is a hero at your bar. He does not seem very bright; only strong."

Ivan brushes her off as though he has walked into a spider's web. He can still feel her breath on his neck, even when he tugs his scarf closer. "I know."

It doesn't take long to spot him, even from here. The boy is golden sunshine among an array of snow-clouds. Still, the fool is not entirely without skill. It is only his spies who truly take note; the rest do not see him as anyone of particular interest. The cop picks up quickly on the other patron's habits, and his easy nature draws plenty to like him.

Ivan starts toward the bar, only to change his mind. Now is not the time to confront the young cop. Now is the time to wait and watch. He is always looking for useful things, and an enemy's fool is often more precious than his best spies.

"... so, I was like "Dude, seriously, I can't even find my glasses, how the hell am I supposed to find your underwear?" And I mean, after that it was "NEVER AGAIN" to the vodka. But you know. I've grown. I'm pretty sure I can swallow it without yakking." Alfred's talking to a group of big, burly Russians, who seem to think he's hilarious. Ah, new friends. His night is going _very_ well. "So, like, the good thing about it though was I got to find out what's going on back here. And I mean, I heard that dude Gil got knocked off. What the hell, man? That's _crazy_." He very carefully keeps his feelings on Gilbert in the dark until he can gauge whether he was loved or hated here.

"The albino? Hah! He could hold his beer, I must give him that much, but we won't be pouring a glass to his damned departed soul, no doubt cooking in hell. And we'll meet him there!" The biggest thug laughs, pounding the bar with his glass.

"Hah- Yeah, got that right buddy, if where your hand is is any indication!" Alfred shoves the hand off his thigh, waving at the chick tender for another round. "What the fuck happened anyway? I heard he got shot!"

"You were thinking he fell down? Of course he was shot. By his own _brother_. I was here that night, and I heard the old German yelling in his office. Left in a hurry." The second thug is older, with a much thicker accent. He leans in, lowering his voice as though about to reveal a great secret. "The old man was his grandfather, you know. Is not common knowledge, but quite true! That brother only stood to gain. Family means nothing to them!"

The first thug shoves his drunk friend. "Idiot! You know nothing. I was by the Casino. It was just a low-life, the one in the mask! I saw him after the shots, and there was blood on him."

"Bozhe moi! My comrades are fools." The third thug scowls, raising his glass. "Here's to the one who pulled the trigger and made the world a fool shorter. To the master of the house!" He throws back the vodka.

Alfred raises his eyebrows at all of this. This is just... Well. They've got a couple more leads than they did yesterday. And some interesting eye-witness testimony. He swallows his glass in toast, smirking a little to himself. "You guys are a fun bunch."

Toris returns to the bar after a few deep breaths and rolls his eyes at the cop, half-wondering if he could be any dumber. No one drinks a Russian under the table. Except maybe another Russian. He drops a few more glasses in their vicinity and lets them fight for them, moving back to where Bella is helping someone at the register, dodging Natalia's angry glare. "Hey, make sure those idiots over there get water with maybe a finger of vodka? They're way over the deep end right now."

She nods, moving back to where the storage closet is. They need more vodka - the good stuff. They've practically sold out of everything. _Everything_. "Hey, Tori, can you run to the liquor store? We're completely out of vodka."

Toris curses, wondering what the fuck he's going to say to Ivan, how he'll even be able to look at him when he goes to the office to ask. He moves slowly, slipping into the office and waiting for him to look up, trying to shake the tension from his blood.

Ivan doesn't look up. He knows when there is someone there, and he knows who it is. Best, for him, not to look too interested. "Come in, Toris. You are wanting something?"

_'I want everything back to how it was three years ago...' _He almost says it. Instead he bites it back, flexing his fingers and wondering just what the hell has come over him. "We're out of vodka. I need to run to the store."

Ivan waves his hand dismissively. "Da, da. Is good; means good business. Unless...you wish to talk now?" He raises his eyes, the violet glinting in the light from his desk lamp.

"I—" He's shaking. God, why does that look in his eyes have him so fucking freaked? "We... We're really busy. I'm taking fifty from the register. We close at one tonight. That should get us through the next two hours."

"Very well. You will come and talk before you leave? Is not trouble, I promise." _Not yet._ "I am thinking of a promotion for you. Much needed, da?"

Toris straightens. What? That easy? No... There's a catch in this somewhere. But it really _is_ much-needed. "Yeah. Definitely... needed. I'll... just go get that vodka." Waving a little, he slips out of the room, not sure why he's blushing.

Ivan allows himself a real smile once Toris is out of sight. This has been an interesting night, filled with potential. He begins to chuckle, and then laugh aloud as he thinks of it all. "Run little rabbits, run. You do not see that this cage is glass, and you can only smash into a wall!"

XXX

One AM takes forever to arrive, and by the time it gets there Toris feels sick with worry and excitement. His body is not cooperating with his brain - in fact, it is rebelling wholeheartedly with the thought of seeing Ivan in the privacy of that office, with no means of escape. Slowly, he wipes down the bar and drops the rag in the sink. Steeling himself to fight every demon he has, he presses down his shirt and enters the office.

Ivan's desk is neat now, with a few stacked piles to the side and Toris' paper in the middle. He gestures to the chair across from his desk. It's a lovely set up; the desk is massive, made of dark wood, and his own chair fits him. The seat for his guests is smaller, with little padding. It is not meant to be comfortable, and it forces anyone who sits there to look up at him. "Sit."

Toris moves to the chair slowly, dropping into it and trying not to feel like a child about to be given a punishment. But that's what it feels like; kind of like that time in high school when he decked that stupid sophomore for calling Feliks a fag and got sent to the principal. He has a feeling he's meant to feel small here. Leaning back in the chair, attempting to get comfortable, he looks upon Ivan with what he hopes is the appropriate amount of homage. "Sir?"

Ivan smiles pleasantly, offering a cup of coffee. It's the good kind; just the smell ought to help wake them up, and he needs to be awake for a little longer. They both do. "I am sorry to keep you from your boyfriend, Toris. Is hard, I am sure. Very hard to see someone you love so very sick, especially when you cannot help them."

The notes of empathy in his voice are not entirely false. Back in Russia, he and his sisters lost their mother when they were very young to disease. Then there was no money, and they were shipped away. The image of his home growing smaller and smaller in the distance, leaving the three of them abandoned, is one that has never really faded.

Toris can hear something of the sincerity in that voice. And to know that he gets it... He knows everything that he does, at least… it makes him choke. Suddenly he finds it very hard to swallow his tears. "Thank you. For saying so." Pressing his lips together, he curls his hands between his knees and closes his eyes, afraid to ask. "So, now you know. I need this job."

Toris looks very pretty with his face like that. When those green eyes open again they glisten, and it makes him want to run his thumb over Toris' cheek. He takes a moment to smooth out the paper instead. "Da. Is part of the reason I have decided on promotion for you. Is a good deal, you will see. But first, I must ask." He looks Toris dead in the eye. "Are you sick too? Is no shame if you are, only I wish to know what you need." And if there is a chance he should not be risking Toris' blood, or face him getting as sick as his lover.

"No." Toris breathes out slowly, shaking his head. It is, for all intents and purposes, the most shameful part of this whole thing. He's not sick. Which means Feliks didn't get it from him. He opens his eyes again, looking up to Ivan's face, but not his eyes. He can't meet his eyes. "I'm not sick. He... I used to get tested every month, and we use condoms. But since he went really downhill he... won't."

Ivan nods, tucking that information away for later use. "Well. You do not want to be sick. Is no good, not at all. I cannot figure out how you afforded such a thing for this long on the shit you made from Mr. Beilschmidt."

Toris' teeth clack together, his jaw snapping shut. It's not fair to say such things of the dearly departed, especially Hans. Still. He breathes through it, dropping his hands to smooth over his knees. "Feliks... He didn't take the meds. Never told me what he was supposed to be taking."

Ivan raises an eyebrow. He's not a medical expert by any stretch of the imagination, but he knows his share about these things. Ivan does not forget. If he hears something once, he will know it forever. It is no wonder the man got so very sick. The look on Toris' face tells him he already came to a similar conclusion. There is such a mix of feelings there; hate for himself, worry for his boyfriend, but most of all there is a crippling fear. "Why do you stay? It is not your fault. If you stay, in the end you will have nothing at all."

God. It's the question Toris can't stand to hear anyone ask. His hands go lax against the arms of the chair, and he sits back, letting himself try to fall into this stupid, stupid mess and just swim in it. It's all he can do now. "I love him." He says it softly, yet there is no quiver, no uncertainty in his voice. "He's everything to me. I don't know what happened and I don't care. I just love him, and I want to keep loving him for as long as I can."

There is something in his voice that reaches down into Ivan's heart. Deep down, he likes to believe in love stories, in romance. He does not believe in happy endings, but there are happy middles, and that sometimes makes up for everything else. Part of him wishes it was the middle he was to take part in; it must have been something beautiful. But then, Toris would not have needed him. "I can help, if you are willing to make a deal."

Toris had figured as much. A deal. With Ivan Braginski, the kind that could get him killed. Or... something. Breathing in slowly, he thinks about it - really thinks about it. What is he prepared to do for Feliks? Anything. Anything he needs.

"What kind of deal?" he asks, looking up at Ivan and, for the first time all night, meeting his hot violet eyes. He doesn't know what it is about those eyes that make him feel like a completely different person.

Ivan pulls a stapled set of papers from the top of one of his stacks and sets it down facing Toris, putting his pen next to it. "This is a contract, to make sure we both hold up our end of the deal. The wording is a bit...different," _legal_, "but it means the same thing. You will work for me; not just as bartender, but whatever else I need. I need someone like you, Toris: perceptive, quick, calm, _obedient_. In exchange, I will pay for this." He gestures to the bill in his hand. "All of it. Medicine, hospital, doctors, food - all. I will even still pay you for bartending, as your own expenses. Very generous offer, da?"

All of it? _All_...? His breath leaves him, his eyes widening at the concept. He could make rent. Hell, he could actually eat something other than pasta and eggs. But the wording of this makes him suspicious. He thinks it over_. 'Whatever else...'_ That could be anything. That could be... God. No. He needs this. _They_ need it. He swallows, looking down at the paper. "So, I'll be one of your..." He gestures to the now empty bar. The word 'thug' does not even need to be said.

"You will be my personal assistant. It says so in the contract." He points to the words, which make all of this sound so very reasonable and legal. Toris is not going to be like the others. He is neither spy nor muscle, not a dealer, not any of the things he already has. That is what makes this so interesting, and worth every cent. In any case, Ivan will have complete access to this boyfriend now; he could not ask for better leverage. "Ah, but do not forget. It also says that I am no doctor, and if any complications should arise for your poor Feliks, I am not responsible."

Toris looks up at him again, just those last words making this sound a little more cagey. However, they _need_ this. Personal assistant. It sounds less like muscle, more like ass. But who is he kidding? If this keeps Feliks alive, he'll take it. Anything. He picks up the pen and signs, feeling cold, like he's just swallowed ice.

"Is good!" Ivan grins. He signs his own name and files it away to be copied. "Now then. I would like you to come early tomorrow, and then we will discuss details. There are no specific hours; if I call, you come. You do not ask questions. Just do. For now, you may go."

Toris nods slowly, rising to his feet, his head bobbing in respect. Now that it's done, he needs to know. "And the bills? When will you...?"

"Leave them with me. By tomorrow, all taken care of. You will not even see them from now on!"

Toris' breath comes out in a soft, heavy sigh, and he reaches out to take one hand between both of his, trying to feel _nothing_ but gratitude. It's impossible. He feels the man's power; electricity that's strong enough to knock him out. "Thank you. I'm grateful." He lets go fast, dashing from the bar and practically running to the hospital.


	13. Ch 12: Blood is Thicker

Hello lovely readers! We hope your doing well as we head into the fall season. Enjoy this chapter with a nice cup of cider and pumpkin bread - or, for the squeamish, perhaps not.

**Chapter Summary:** Teenage drama plagues Raivis and Eduard. Downstairs, Ivan uses Kaoru to send a message to Yao.

Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia.

* * *

Chapter 12: Blood is Thicker

The page in front of Eduard is the same one he started reading an hour ago, when he'd opened the front door and Kaoru barged past him. He'd headed straight for Raivis' room, and the sounds that followed... Well. They have left him utterly unable to concentrate on his homework. Sighing softly, he turns the page over. A loud, half-crazed moan assaults his ears. He almost wonders if Raivis is moaning like that on purpose.

He's not sure what's worse at this point: listening to them fuck or listening to them fight. It's always one or the other, and sometimes both at once. He doesn't understand why Raivis wants to be with someone who doesn't seem to care about his company. Kaoru is always busy, never up for a real date or interested in conversation. He drinks and he smokes and sells his uncle's drugs, even to the kids at school. Apparently Yao doesn't know that part; no one says a word, because then they'd lose the one who supplies the hard stuff to the underage crowd. Those who don't buy remain silent as well; no need for half the school to hate you.

A loud, heady moan comes through the door. Another sound, rougher, comes through with it. There was thumping before. At least that part is over. But now they're doing something else, and whatever it is, it has Raivis whining.

Eduard groans into his book, and not at all in a pleasant way. Damnit, how is he supposed to get anything done like this? When they're out, he worries all night. When they're here, they're too loud for him to think at all! He wishes things could go back to the way they were before they grew up and things got complicated; when they were brothers - never by blood, but by loyalty and love. They'd found each other, somehow, when they were just a couple of starving kids on the streets. How is it that now, when they have everything they need, things seem more difficult?

Finally the groans end with a choked off whine. There is silence for a few moments, peace. And then whispers. Movement. Louder whispers. "Jesus, if you were just here for a bone, you should've gone outside and dug it up!" It comes through loud and clear, and so utterly Raivis. "Is that all this is?! Because every time I see you..." His voice trails off again to lower, agitated whispers. After far too long the door bangs open and Kaoru brushes out, barely mussed, like he didn't even take off his shoes.

Raivis feels sick for some reason. Sick and angry. He tosses the first thing he can grab (his alarm clock) at Kaoru's back, but misses. The door to their apartment slams, and he slams the one to his bedroom, close to tears. Fuck. _Why_? Why does he need this so badly? Why can't he just not be in love, not want, not feel anything at all? Why can't he make people a game, the way Ivan does? Why can't he lock himself in a box like Eduard? No, he has to feel every _fucking_ thing. So here he is, yet again feeling the impact so that someone else can have their fun.

Kaoru tromps down the stairs, trying to remember where he's supposed to be in the next hour. Yao's not expecting him back until after school tomorrow. He better find someplace to rest his head until then. But as he's leaving the bar, a shadow catches his eye in the corner. He slows to a stop, turning to look. Ivan is staring directly at him.

Ivan has known his sons have a late-night guest for some time. He'd allowed himself the brief, if foolish, hope that it was Emil before reviewing his security cameras. He likes Emil; the boy is quiet, smart, and well-suited for his Eduard – all the qualities that make him horribly unlikely to pay them a clandestine visit after midnight. It is unfortunate that Emil has stopped coming for public, daytime visits too. He'll fix it though. Emil will come back and Eddie won't be lonely, and his family will grow!

For now, he must deal with a more unsavory child. Yao's damn nephew thinks far too much of himself; Ivan sincerely hopes that attitude gets him killed one day. After all, Kaoru is visiting _Raivis_. Raivis is HIS. His to keep forever, and he will NOT have this little cretin defiling him. But he is clever enough to know that timing is everything. Now, just when he needs an excuse to reply to Yao's ever-so-thoughtful letters, one comes waltzing straight into his bar. He grins. "Good evening. Or morning, I suppose."

Kaoru freezes, breathing in a very slow, deliberate breath. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He is fucked. Hah. Oh well. Damning himself to a little warning speech, he turns around and heads back toward the busy-body father figure Raiv is so damn scared of. "Morning," he replies easily, checking out his exits, waiting for an opportunity to slip away. "Just visiting."

"Most visitors make themselves known, and do not sneak out my back door. Or fuck my sons. Do you know what happened to the man – one of my own! – when he started watching them undress?" Ivan does not move. If the boy tries to run, he will not get far. As if he would leave the exits unguarded!

The asshole sounds so much like Yao, Kaoru almost starts speaking Chinese. "He got hard. Like any sane man would." Laughing, he turns around; it's no wonder Raiv's such a control freak.

"Quite the opposite," says Ivan. He reaches out with his pipe, the curved faucet catching the boy around the neck and pulling him back. "He got very soft. It only takes a few good swings to break through the skull, and then everything is mush on the inside. Same with the ribs. All you are inside..." he drags him close enough to land a swift punch to his gut, "is soft. Is all the same when it comes out."

The blow catches him off-guard. Kaoru doubles over, choking on the taste of Raivis' cum and his own bile. He holds himself tight, shaking, trying to keep himself from throwing up. Fuck, he can't breathe for a second. There are stars in his eyes. On the other hand, it's nothing he hasn't experienced before.

"Is that a _threat_?" he demands when he can speak again, because if there's one thing he can rely on, it's his own goddamn ability to beat the shit out of anything (and there're always Yao's goons).

If the boy doesn't know what a threat is when he encounters one, he'll be dead even sooner than Ivan had hoped. He pulls a piece of paper from his coat pocket. "I have a message for your uncle, in return for all the kind notes he sent to me. You will deliver it, da?"

Kaoru blinks at it for a moment. Completely blank paper. Not even an ominous black dot or something stupid. He rolls his eyes. "Whatever."

As soon as he takes the paper, his head is within Ivan's reach. Ivan grabs him by the hair and _slams_ his face against the bar, hard enough that his nose breaks with an audible _SNAP!_ The sweet tang of blood fills the air, and Ivan grins, pulling the paper back from his hand. "Oh! I forgot to sign."

He lifts Kaoru by the hair again, shoving the paper in his face so that it soaks up the blood pouring from his nose. Then he pulls a pen from his pocket - a very nice one, for signing important documents like contracts with pretty bartenders and threats to special enemies - and writes his name across the bottom, adding a flourish. "There! Is better now." He tucks it into Kaoru's jacket.

The pain came so quick and sharp that Kaoru went nearly blind, and stayed that way until he was given permission to leave. The minute the paper is in his pocket, he is stumbling out the door, barely able to put one foot in front of the other because he's so focused on fleeing. Oh, he is _never_ going back there again. Raiv can come down and get in his fucking car next time he wants to see him. Fuck that.


	14. Ch 13: Brothers

Happy weekend lovelies! Get excited, because we are finally introducing Yao Wang!

A note on names: **Sebastian** - One hell of a (human) butler.

**Chapter Summary:** Kiku visits his powerful half-brother Yao, looking for answers.

Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia.

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Chapter 13: Brothers

The house is a palatial one - old, from the city's grander days, with more rooms and chambers and secrets than Kiku would ever wish to know. He is led inside by Sebastian, the man who was once their father's most trusted guard and now serves as Yao's butler. That was a "promotion" many in their household felt to be dishonorable; a slap in the face for someone who so loyally served the late Mr. Wang. Not that anyone said so aloud, or that their father had inspired much loyalty in anyone. Annoyed with the thought, Kiku lets the Sebastian lead him to the parlor where his half-brother lounges over a chaise like he is the emperor himself, sake in hand while he watches a few minions play mahjong.

Kiku does not want to be here. It is rare that he arrives willingly, and rarer that he is able to leave easily. Yao has made it perfectly clear that his welcome is contingent upon what he brings to make it worth his while. Other than that, he is in a far worse position than the butler. He bites the inside of his lip to force down the look of contempt. Not today. Today, as much as he hates to admit it, he needs help. "Yao." He bows.

Yao does not hear the room grow quiet, or the tiles pause their clicking, or the way they start back up again just as fast, not wanting to be noticed. He hears only Kiku, his... family spawn, the thing that everyone calls his brother. Breathing in slowly, he sits up, letting his neck roll around and his elbows lean on his knees. "Who are you bowing to, _brother_?" He says the term with a note of disdain. He does not exactly enjoy seeing him here, but he knows the idiot would not be here if he had a choice. He much prefers to see Kiku on his knees, calling him 'Ota-san' and sucking his cock in complete submission. Where he belongs. "You came to call upon your family. So call."

Kiku stiffens. Yao's in a dangerous mood; he does not call him brother. Ever. Sometimes when they fuck, but even then the word is always a weapon. This may have been the wrong day to ask for a favor. But, there is no going back now. Yao might even enjoy the opportunity for a little intrigue and bloodshed.

Taking a breath, Kiku stands tall, ignoring the unfriendly eyes upon him. They are the ones who started calling him the China Doll. His own family's employees, and they think of him as nothing more than his brother's whore. Let them. This has never been his real family anyway. "I would ask to make use of your skills, _brother_. Find the one who killed my lover. Make them pay. You have always been good at collecting debts."

_Oh, really...?_ Yao smirks a little at the tone, glass slung between two fingers, hanging. Nothing to lose. It's in his voice, in his posture, in his eyes. Kiku has their father's eyes, but now they are dead. He does not like to see him this way. Despite everything, he enjoys the way those eyes fire at him with every nasty word Kiku wishes he could say. Yao wants him to struggle for life, not sink into death. He needs his toys, after all.

"Hera, was it? The boy who paid you so many visits he never left a cent for?" He smirks a little wider, swallowing the last of his glass. "The little thief."

Kiku's hands quiver at his sides, but his gaze remains steady. "What is given freely is not stolen. What is paid for is not stolen. A thief is one who takes, and does not ask." His eyes narrow, just a little, the implications perfectly clear. Yao makes it so difficult not to argue. He takes another breath, reminding himself that he _needs_ him. He will never find the answer on his own, but Yao most certainly has the means. He cannot rest until he knows the one who killed Hera is dead as well. Then...well, what happens then hardly matters. "Yes. His name is...was Heracles. Heracles Karpusi."

There it is. Some life is left. Good. He needs that. Yao's hand slides over the mouth of his glass and he smirks at him for just a moment, almost chuckling. Such a good thing to feel this again. Hatred, anger. It's been a long time since anyone talked back to him. Not even Kaoru is fool enough to do that anymore.

"Shot in the street, I remember." He rises to his feet, moving to the table where the carafe is. "Sad. But tell me, what's my end of this? What do I care for a bit of muscle with a hole in his head?"

Kiku almost smiles. He knows what Yao expects him to say. Kiku is a whore, after all; no one ever expects him to offer anything else. While he is sure that will come into their bargain eventually - it always does - what he has in mind is something more likely to _keep_ Yao's attention. "Because the same person who took two shots to kill Hera needed just one to take out Beilschmidt. Who is to say you are not next on their list?"

Yao pauses, his hand on the carafe and his mind sliding elsewhere for a moment. Their trip together on the plane, when he was nine and Kiku was five. The way his mother glared at the Japanese maid did not register then, nor did the way their father slapped him when he laughed. What he knew was that they were going to a new home. And that was scary, but he was brave and he wanted to prove it. So he turned to his friend, the maid's son, and said _"Don't worry, I'll protect you."_ And Kiku had said _"I don't need protecting. You do. So I'll stay in your room."_

He doesn't know why he remembers that moment from the time when they were friends, before he knew the shame this boy was to their family, before he knew his own role as his father's heir. "If I was next on the list, _brother dear_, the killer would be dead already."

Kiku wants to ask why Yao's still alive, then, when Yao has been at the top of his list for so long. But Yao knows that, and knows that Kiku cannot do it. He...well, he does not love him, but he needs him. It is the sad truth of things. He chooses his next words carefully, for they are dangerous. "Yet I hear tell you cannot keep a single Russian from your territory."

There's a flush on Yao's cheeks at the very mention of Ivan. Yao is not afraid of the Russian, but there is no doubt that he is threatened. That does not happen often, and Kiku doesn't think he knows quite how to deal with it.

Yao grits his teeth. He fills his glass and brings it back to his chaise, tempted to toss it at this mongrel and light him on fire. That would end this conversation nicely. But as much as Kiku cannot kill him, he cannot kill Kiku. They are still... necessary to each other, for all that it matters.

Sipping his drink, he looks away, considering it. The Russian owns half of the north, some of what was once entirely his part of town. He has been trying to handle that quietly. No one wants a gang war, not when there are bigger things afoot. "Russians are like ants. They crawl in and feed on my crumbs." He drops back into the couch, calculating. "I will look into it."

Kiku cannot deny that he has his own suspicions about Ivan, but there are too many stories about what happened that night to be sure. Even Kiku himself has been named as the jealous lover. Ridiculous. In the end he simply bows low. "Thank you." Now, the hard part: how is he going to leave?

A group of angry-looking Chinese men drag in a rather large, burly Russian - one who is cursing up a storm. Suddenly feeling much better, Yao slides from his spot on the chaise and moves toward the group, waving Kiku off just as he would his butler.

Swallowing the last of his sake, Yao crouches down, waiting for his men to force the driver to his knees so that he may face him eye-to-eye. "Hello." He smiles cheerfully at the man, ignoring everything his father taught him about emotions and letting his own glee show freely. "I take it you are Mister Tobias Lenktov?" When the driver does not answer, he knows it is the truth. He grins, curling his fist around his glass and swinging it, cracking the rim against the side of the man's skull. The top half shatters against the skin, sending glass cascading over the man's broad shoulder and down to his floor. Then Yao takes what's left in his hand and jams it over the driver's lips, embedding it into his face and turning it, creating a gorgeous red, bloody circle.

Madness. Kiku should not be surprised. He's seen it too many times before. He's tired of all this blood, when the ones at the top barely suffer. Although with Gilbert dead, he supposes that is proved wrong. The ones at the top simply have the farthest to fall. And they will fall, Kiku is certain. Someday, every one of them is going to wind up just like Roma, just like Gilbert, just like their damned father. He slips out of the Wang house while he still has the chance.

Hours later, the driver is dead. And more importantly, that big, Armenian shipment Ivan was expecting is now hidden at one of Yao's many safe-houses. He embeds the glass back over the man's mouth, waving for his men to leave the body on Ivan's doorstep. If he wants to get personal, he can damn well get personal. But first, a shower.


	15. Ch 14: A Bitter Pill

Hello lovely readers! We have super-extra-awesome news for you today. First, we finally uploaded a **character chart** to help you keep track of all these crazy people! Check it out on tumblr (link in our profile).

Second, since we are coming to the end of part 1 of the series, we've decided to celebrate with an **ask event** on tumblr! You can send questions for us or for the characters, either in the comments or on tumblr. We're starting early so that we can draw responses and scan them by the time we reach the final chapter.

**Chapter Summary:** After an unpleasant visit from Mattias and Lukas, Berwald learns about Tino's troubled past.

Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia.

* * *

Chapter 14: A Bitter Pill

Berwald has been busy all day, dealing with the fall-out from a nasty bar brawl that left four injured and one unconscious. He's been fielding calls from the Russians, too. Apparently one of their drivers is missing, and they wanted to know if he'd turned up at the clinic - and if he happened to have any information on the Dragon. The driver isn't here, and he doesn't answer questions, so he's been screening his calls for the last two hours.

Now that he has a moment he's making dinner/breakfast for Tino, who is due back from work soon. He rarely did the cooking when his partner was alive. It's only been in the past few years that he's tried to make anything more complicated than a sandwich. After all, Tino deserves something decent after being in the hospital all day and _still_ coming over to help him out.

Right on schedule, Tino flies through the door. He has bags in hand from the medical supply store: sterile equipment, syringes, biohazard bags, all things they need. Particularly the disposable gloves that were on sale. He bought eight boxes. "Hey!" He smiles cheerily, pushing his hair out of his face and dropping the bags on the kitchen table. "Latex gloves were buy one get one!"

It's hard not to smile around Tino, especially when he comes in bearing much-needed supplies. Still, Berwald shakes his head. That had to cost him. "Tino, I told y't'stop buyin' so much. I can't pay y'back for it all, n'y'already volunteer."

Tino puts the other bag on the counter. "And that statement is now going in one ear and out the other. What is this, an omelet?" He pokes the eggy stuff on the waiting plate, then dumps the whole thing back into the frying pan left on the stove. "Oh! I got sterile stitch packs, too. They're in the bag on the table."

Berwald sighs at the egg; it never turns out right. However, the mention of the stitch packs has him going through the bags like a kid at Christmas. "Y'did? Tino, y're like Santa or something!"

"Hah!" Tino laughs a little, using the spatula to break up the eggs. "Can you hand me one of the bagels in the fridge? Do you know where they are? Wait -"

It has not escaped him that Bernie hardly ever goes into his kitchen, let alone keeps track of what's in it. He's been filling it for his own sake as well as Bernie's for months now. He sets the spatula aside and goes into the fridge for one of the multigrain bagels. The olive oil is in the cupboard. The eggs are now officially done. He dumps them back on the plate and begins grilling the bagel in olive oil with a little bit of garlic. "So how was your day?"

It's kind of nice to smell something other than antiseptic. It's one of the many reasons Berwald loves it when Tino comes home. _Over._ When Tino comes over. The clinic is home to anyone who needs it. "Busy. Bar fight. Missin' driver. Y'seen any Russian drivers at Mercy? Name was...Toby? No, Tobias."

Tino blinks, thinking on it, then shrugs it off. "Nope." His eggs are soon dumped on a yummy garlic bagel, which he cuts in half and brings to the table. "We were kind of swamped though. Chicken pox is going around again. T'is the season." He takes half of the sandwich and shoves the other toward Bernie. "Eat."

Berwald looks down. It smells good, and really, that's enough to satisfy him. He pushes it back to Tino. "Y'must be hungry. Have the whole thing, or at least _more_."

"Ugh, no." He munches on his half, shaking his head. "We had two body dumps today, one at our morgue and the other in a dumpster out on Freemont. The one at our morgue was the worst. Somebody shot him point blank. His skull caved in when he hit the pavement."

That Bernie can understand. There are some days when the images just won't leave him alone, and food seems to take on the exact texture and aroma of a brain or a lung, or the bowels he's seen falling out of someone's stomach. He looks down at his half. Now he's _really_ not hungry. "There's always something."

Tino pushes the remains of the plate at him. "_Eat_. You starving to death is not going to help anybody. You look pale." Sighing softly, he leans back in his chair and smiles as Bernie picks up the half. "But it was funny - we had this little kid come in today. He tried to play knights with his buddies, and he was using a trash can lid as a shield. But it was heavy and when he swung it, he let go. It hit him right above the eye. Four stitches."

Berwald chews carefully, happy to listen to Tino talk about anything. Especially the nicer hospital stories, the ones that have happy endings. There aren't nearly enough of those; he's starting to wonder if he really believes in happy endings at all.

Tino prattles on, half laughing at the way Bernie listens without listening. Sliding out of his chair, he moves to grab a drink, gratified to see the orange juice he'd made that morning (fresh squeezed for the vitamin C) is half-gone. At least Bernie had something today. "So I finally finished a book last night because I couldn't sleep," says Tino. "I don't know what it is; I don't even need coffee to stay up anymore, I just can't get to sleep."

Laughing a little, Tino pours a cup for himself and nearly drops the whole thing when he hears the door slam open. Then he hears the one voice that likes to haunt him when he _does _manage to sleep. _"Tin?! You in there? Come check this shit out and pay up!"_

Fuck. His hands start to shake, and he tells himself to calm down like he does every time. "Um..." He puts the glass and the pitcher in the fridge.

Bernie raises an eyebrow. "S'just Mattias and Lukas. Matt's a bastard, but..." He shrugs. Tino knows they need him. He brings the good medicine, the things they can't buy at all.

Breathing in slowly, Tino turns away from Bernie and heads out into the waiting area to greet the pair. Mattias and Lukas are drug runners for Yao Wang; they work as EMTs at the hospital, but they are _very _good at skimming extra meds from the hospital's supplies. They're both tall, but Matt is thick and muscular where Luk is thin as a wisp. Luk looks shrunken in on himself these days; carefully blank. Tino half wishes he didn't recognize that face. It would be better if he'd never known either of them at all. "What's in the box, Matt?"

Mattias drops the crate by the door, cursing to himself as he comes into the waiting area takes off his stupid fucking jacket. He's hot. He feels hot on a night he knows is cool. He needs a drink, or better yet, something to blow off a little steam. Ignoring Luk, he throws the jacket on one of the waiting chairs and wipes his sweating hands on his scrubs. "Check it," Matt grins. He watches as Tino crouches to open the box, picking through it, counting up. That's at least five grand in merch right there that Yao is giving them for two. That's generosity.

Berwald walks in, never taking his eyes off his guests. Tino's got the supplies covered, he knows what they need and what market price is. Right now, he's more interested in the way Matt is watching Tino. He doesn't like it, not when he knows that they used to date. That was years ago; they broke up around the time of his family's accident. Apparently it ended badly, but that's all he's gotten out of the nurse.

Then there's Lukas, who was Bernie's friend at the hospital. They met when he worked in the ER. Luk didn't take shit from anybody back then. He was pulled together, could hand him a man's arm while asking how his day was and keeping track of the blood loss. Berwald wants to know what happened to that Luk. This one's gone quiet, gotten too skinny. Then there's the bruise on his cheek, a fresh one this time. He takes hold of his chin, turning it to the light. "What happened?"

Lukas pushes the doctor's hand away. "You try carrying that much shit and watching where you're going. Leave it." It comes out with ease. Who's to say that's not exactly what happened, anyway? Matt said he was sorry.

Tino grits his teeth, suddenly pissed as hell. Of course. Of course, that's exactly what happened. He tripped carrying supplies. He slammed his hand on the ambulance door. He walked into a fucking wall. Reeling around, he throws the envelope at Matt, glaring. "There. It's fine. Go home." Damn him to hell for all he's done already. His hands are shaking again.

Mattias catches the little envelope and pops the tongue out of its fold, not really counting. Just watching. Watching Tino, who is watching him like he's the one who did something stupid. He guesses that's how it looks.

Tino never gets like this around anyone else. Bernie doesn't like it. It makes him angry, and that's not something he feels. Sadness, pity, emptiness, a little hope, but not usually anger. He reserves that for very, very stupid people: himself, and then the one who killed his family and just _drove away_. His fists clench tighter. Compared to that, Mattias is a distant third. But third all the same. He puts a heavy hand on his shoulder. "I think y'should go. Y'got the money. We got the medicine. Y're done."

Matt whips around, finding a very resolved face too close to his own. Look at the asshole, trying to protect what he never had. "Sure, man. Whatever." He steps past Luk and the box, heading out the door and rooting through his pocket for the little pills that keep him easy and sane and better than normal. He pops one in his mouth and grinds it between his teeth, ignoring the nasty taste.

"See you next time," says Lukas. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, glad to be rid of the weight of all those drugs. Matt's already popping pills. He's not really surprised; but Emil must be home by now, so he just has to hope that Matt stays somewhat grounded, remembers to be quiet. His little brother needs to study, doesn't need to hear them doing the one thing they've always been good at.

"Luk," the doctor calls to him from the door, reaching out after him. The feel of cool air makes Bernie draw his hand back. "Luk, y'can stay if y'want. S'been a while since we talked." He already knows the answer, but he has to ask anyway. He can't just watch this happen.

Lukas stops for only a second, halfway between Berwald and Mattias. He does not look back. "Thanks, Bernie, but some other time."

Tino hears them go, and he breathes out slowly. He doesn't blame Luk for saying no. He'd turned down those offers too, from everyone, back when it was still him. Scared, guilty, just knowing that if he leaves, Matt would...And Luk has _Emi_ to worry about. Of course he'd say no. Then go home, have sex, try to sleep. Wake up in another fresh hell.

XXX

It seemed the moment Matt and Luk left, things started picking up. Another bar fight. A kid with an allergic reaction but no EpiPen or insurance. Four addicts in the grips of a major problem high. Someone is selling shit cut with a nasty compound meant to look like crack, but it is taking kids sky high and bringing them down like the fucking Hindenburg. It takes them four hours to get them stable, sleeping it off in the patient beds. At last, Tino takes off his gloves and heads for the kitchen in search of water.

It's a good thing Mattias and Lukas did show up tonight, because some of those meds were desperately needed. It seems like every time the Clinic gets restocked, they're running out again. Berwald hasn't been paid in a while, either. He knows some of the Rainbow employees will show up soon and pay more than they owe, but that still leaves the Clinic behind. He owns the house, but the utility costs are high and they always, _always_ need more supplies. He never expects Tino to cover it, and even though he is grateful when he does, Tino has his own expenses to worry about. They're going to have to find the money somewhere, or start charging.

Bernie pulls off his personal protective equipment, washes his hands, and follows the nurse out. Tino's shoulders are stiff. Something's been bothering him ever since their medicine dealers showed up. "Wha's wrong?"

Tino pours himself some water, not even noticing Bernie's presence, let alone hearing his words. His mind is on Matt and Luk, and so are his worries. He can't help but wonder just what's happening now. Are they in bed, fucking like horny rabbits in spring? Are they fighting? Is Matt knocking Luk's jaw off its hinges, right in front of his little brother?

Tino is gripping that glass so tightly it's a wonder it doesn't shatter. Berwald puts a hand on his shoulder, just barely touching him so that he doesn't spook. "Tino?"

He drops the glass, gasping and ripping away with wide, half-wild eyes that only calm when he sees that it's Berwald. _Oh_. "Sorry." He whispers it, looking over his shoulder at the glass and grabbing a paper towel to start picking up the pieces.

This isn't like Tino at all. He's usually so careful, so easy and calm. It's only around Matt that he gets like this, and Bernie's had enough. For too many years he's been so trapped in his own head, with his own ghosts, he has simply stood by while Tino deals with his. "Leave it. I'll get it later."

He puts the paper towel on the counter and leads Tino to the couches in the 'waiting room.' A brief inspection of his friend's hands show a minor cut. He goes for the little first aid kit. It will be easier to talk while he works. "Tino, what happened? Between y'and Matt, I mean. Something's not right here."

Tino's spine is stiff, ramrod straight. This... this is new. He feels wetness between his fingers and looks down to find blood. It doesn't hurt. He's just not paying attention at all tonight, is he? He's lucky those addicts in the back aren't dead. Swallowing, he looks toward Bernie and tries to piece together his answer. In the end, he goes with another question. "What do you mean? We broke up forever ago. I'm not..." He waves the bleeding hand toward the door. "I don't fool around with attached guys."

"I know," says Bernie. In fact, he's never seen Tino with _anyone_. Except Mattias. They met when Tino was with Matt, in the ER. He was setting Tino's broken arm, and Matt was in the hall, worried. He'd fallen, or something. There was something strange about it then, too. But Bernie had been distracted by Tino's questions; he wasn't perturbed by the arm, so much as curious. Wanted to know all the medical details, because he was in school to be a nurse. Just like that night, he keeps Tino's hand steady in his and his voice even. His bedside manner isn't perfect (he's been told he's too scary), but he tries to keep everything calm. "S'not what I meant. I meant...y're still angry with him."

He's so close, and Tino's mind is so distracted that he feels kind of dazed. Is this what it feels like to be "overwhelmed?" He's never understood the term before. But in this moment it makes perfect sense. Overwhelmed. By the nearness of him, the way his hand presses warm into his flesh. "I suppose," he says after a too long moment, his mind suddenly fizzling, full of things that he can't focus on. "Is it really that bad?"

Berwald places a band-aid over the cut, tenderly pressing the sticky ends down. He doesn't even think about why; there's just something about Tino that makes him want to be particularly good to him. Then he looks up, so that Tino cannot avoid his eyes. "Was it?"

The blue of his eyes has Tino taken aback. This is why he loves Bernie. Not for his kindness, for his dedication, or for any of the hundreds of other reasons he should, but because there is something about him that just clicks inside like a light switch. "I..."

He doesn't know what to say. Was it really that bad? With Matt? Hell yes it was. But he survived, didn't he? He walked away. He's still breathing. "I'm still breathing," he says, drawing his hand back and curling his arms around himself, feeling naked under that gaze.

Berwald's suspicions are growing, to the point where they aren't really suspicions anymore. He lets Tino have his space, but tries to prod a little further into the situation. Matt is a jerk; always has been, and he has his own reasons to hate him without being angry on Tino's behalf or Luk's. He just wonders how far it went. "What happened? At least, what happened in the end? Why'd y'leave him?"

Tino blinks at the question, then closes his eyes again to think, for once feeling about as tired as he should. Thinking about this has made him want to curl up and sleep, forget everything else. "I..." _'I realized he wouldn't change, no matter what I did. I realized that I was scared of the person I was supposed to love. I didn't have any fight left in me.'_ "Why do you care?" he asks suddenly, barely realizing it's a legitimate question. "I mean, you've never asked before."

That...well, Bernie doesn't have an answer. Not one that he likes. Is it because he's too selfish to bother asking Tino about his life, or because he didn't want to know? Both, probably. He looks away. "Don't know. Y'don't have t'say, it's just that sometimes talking helps. And y'know I won't tell anyone. S'my job, and I've got no one else t'tell."

That's true. It's all true. And if there's anyone Tino would want to talk about this with, it's Bernie. But part of him is still ashamed, still hurting. He let it go on for so long, letting it happen like the pitiful little worm he was. God knows if Bernie knew just how damaged he was by that man, he'd never look at him the same way. "You're right." He sighs softly, looking down at the band-aid on his finger and running his thumb over it. "It's just, I don't feel good about it. It ended very badly, and he still..." _'scares me to death.'_ The words go unspoken. "I'll just keep out of the way next time, alright?"

"How about I keep him out of y'rs?" Berwald tries to smile. That doesn't stop him from wanting to know. He should let it go, shouldn't pry any further, but if it was _that_ bad, he wants to...what, make it so that it didn't happen? He of all people knows that isn't possible. Still, maybe he can let him know that whatever happened, it's ok; he can make sure it never happens again. Perhaps this once, he shouldn't just clean up the mess. Someone needs to get Lukas out of there.

Bernie is actually _smiling_. God, that makes Tino nearly melt. He smiles back, grinning ear to ear, his hand reaching out to pat his fingers. "It's not something you should worry about, okay? You're a doctor. You have better things to do. Besides, you're the one who got me to leave in the first place." Sliding to his feet, he steals the man's glasses and grins as he reaches for them. That's one surefire way to make Bernie sit still. "Now close your eyes and don't move for a little while. I'll get you some tea. It's been a hell of a night."

"But..." That's hardly fair. He crosses his arms, almost laughing. Tino never plays fair.

Still laughing, he heads for the kitchen and spots Bernie's phone on the table, flashing. "Oh, your phone." He brings it back to him and hands him his glasses so that he can read. "Holly called."

The glasses get pushed up his nose, and Bernie looks down, hoping for a message. Of course there isn't one. Holly is against leaving any sort of trail. "Want t'ask him if he knows about that shit the kids took." He gestures toward the back rooms, where their patients are sleeping. Holly seems to know just about everything that happens in this city. He's a good source, and willing to give a bit of information to the clinic for free, since they regularly fix up his customers without turning him in. He also wonders if Holly would know anything about Matt. They do work together, in a way.

"Let me know what he says." Tino smiles, heading to the kitchen. Clearly, Holly's expertise is very much needed in this case. And besides, he's too wrung out to be positive about what they took. Tea will help them both; maybe some ginger snaps. He heads to the kitchen in search of them.

Berwald nods, for a moment looking between Tino and his phone. If he's going to ask about _that_, he can't let Tino hear. He has a feeling Tino won't appreciate the concern. Making a decision, he starts for the stairs. "M'gonna call him upstairs. Y'know he doesn't like it when y'might hear. Paranoid. I trust y', but..."

Blinking a little, Tino shrugs it off and nods. "There's this fantastic plum tea I bought at the Asian Market down the street. Want some of that?" He raises the mug and box.

"Yeah," Bernie calls back. Then he's at the top of the stairs, and it's like entering his memories. Not one thing has changed here since the day he lost them. He cleans the sheets every once in a while, especially the ones in the master bedroom that he still uses. He dusts, but everything goes back exactly as it was. He feels like he's still waiting for them to come home, for Victor to come give him a kiss while Peter runs to play with his toys. The little soldiers are still in formation on the floor of his room, and his favorite stuffed animal is still on his pillow.

That door remains shut, however, and Bernie leans against it. He doesn't go inside too often these days. If Peter came home today, he wouldn't want those toys anyway. He'd be sixteen next month. Has it really been six years? He shakes his head. This is why he never bothered about Tino. It needs to stop. He needs to start thinking about his friends - well, friend. He dials Holly.

Holly's strung out by the time his phone rings, dazed on pot but nothing else. He never does anything else these days; the bad shit can really ruin you. He knows that from experience – his, and others. It's a lucky thing he was never into sharing, really. He snuffs the joint in his ashtray, grabbing his phone as he stares at the ceiling, wondering if perhaps it's the kid he's been thinking about all week. Of course not. "'lo?"

"Holly? S'Bernie. Y'good t'talk?" He's learned to ask, because it is pointless to ask Holly anything if he's too far gone. Then things just get confusing, because he can't tell if he's talking about a vision or some new drug he should worry about.

"Fine, fine." Bernie. Good. They need to talk, even if the sound of his voice makes him deflate a little, banishing cute little party boys to the far side of his mind. "Some assholes tried to short me earlier. Kaoru dealt with them, sent them on their way. I'm assuming they're with you now?"

"Y'mean the kids? Well not kids, more like teens. Bu' they're young. What'd they take? S'bad stuff. Almost lost the one."

"God knows. They wanted a party mix when they came to me." Holly shrugs it off, feeling no guilt whatsoever. He's seen too much to feel guilty for this. "Stupid. I'm guessing somebody across town gave them faux-crack. The danger factor is definitely there. I just wanted you to expect them. And they're going to try to leave the minute they're awake. One of them has a real problem."

"Figured," Bernie replies. The one had struggled hard when they tried to help, coming very close to actually biting him. That was when they were crashing hard; he doubts he'll be able to keep them, once they're feeling a little better. He never can. They'll be back, just like everyone else. "Know what was in it? If y'can, get someone t'stop y'r friend. Any more of that and y'll be missin' customers."

One good thing about Bernie, he knows how to talk to him. "Fair enough." Holly makes a mental note, rolling out of bed and heading for his fridge in search of water. His apartment is a studio; he's never needed much else. It's a gorgeous space with high, industrial windows that look out on the city. There's nothing like it. "I'll find out who it is."

"Good." Normally, that would be the end of their conversation, so he speaks quickly, before Holly can hang up. "Ah, there's something else. S'little...personal."

Holly pauses, thinks on it, and then gives in to his curiosity. "Shoot." He pours his water and ducks his head back in the fridge, wondering what he's got. Is that a muffin? No. That's not... completely muffin. He pushes it aside and finds grapes waiting in a bowl in the back.

There's a moment of silence as Bernie collects his thoughts, trying to decide how to ask. "Tell me about Mattias. And Tino. Together."

Holly's shocked. Completely shocked. He nearly chokes on a grape. "Matt and _Tino_?" He frowns, taking the bowl back toward his bed and draping himself over it, wondering just what could've brought this on. Everyone in the world knows Tino's got a thing for Bernie. Whether or not Bernie has anything _back_ is an entirely different question. He guesses this answers it. "Why? Is he seeing him again?" Motherfuck - that would be just _it_. If Matt had somehow wheedled his way back in with Tino, coworker or no, the man would be in a ditch by morning. There are just that many people who love Tino and hate Matt; the only reason he's still around is that Yao finds him too useful to rot in a jail cell - or that ditch.

"_No_." Berwald says, with more force than he intended. He tries to back off a little. "No. S'just, every time they're in the same room, Tino gets freaked. Don't like it. I know something bad happened, but he won't talk t'me. Don't like seein' him like that."

Holly raises an eyebrow. "You don't know about that whole fiasco?" It shouldn't shock him. It makes sense, what with the accident and the way Bernie just shut himself down. But it was kind of the biggest news since friggin' Hans quit the business, so it felt like the whole world knew. "They were together for like two years, running around with the mesh shirt and collar set. Dude used to beat the tar out of him."

Berwald's fist clenches, and he finds himself trying hard not to punch his son's bedroom door. That much he had guessed already. Knew, from Tino's visits to the ER. What happened after, though, is a mystery to him. He was...not himself. That's the nice way of putting it. "And then...?"

Holly pops a grape into his mouth, thinking on it. It was a long time ago, but the whole thing is still a story for the ages. One of those cautionary tales that get flung around the city because there's bad, and then there's 'You think _that's_ bad...?' "Well, the way I understand it, Matt started using the harder stuff and things got nasty. He carved his name into Tino's backside and had him show it off at parties. It wasn't pretty. Tin tried to end it, and he left him half-dead and handcuffed to a pipe in his basement for two days. Went on a real bender." His jaw sets and he drops to his pillow. "Yao found out and sent some guys to get him out of there."

The phone drops from limp fingers, and Bernie chokes back bile. He falls back against the wall and slides down it after his phone, nearly shaking. Oh God; sweet, dear Tino went through all that, and he didn't know? No. Of course he didn't. He was busy mourning, getting drunker every day, coming into work and not being able to see straight, screaming at his coworkers and fucking up meds until they sent him home and took away the one thing he had left. Work. Who had come to him then? _Tino_. And he hadn't even noticed a thing was wrong. He really might be sick.

How is he going to look at Tino now? Not because he's disgusted with him, but rather with himself. He didn't think, he _never_ thought of what Tino might've been through. Mattias could have killed him..._Mattias_. His fists clench again and he growls. He wishes he could hurt him, dump drugs down his throat that would burn through his stomach while he was alive. But he's a doctor - at least, in his heart he still is. He can't harm, only heal. He has to get a grip, before the shaking of his hands makes him go for the whiskey. He only has it on hand for patients, when they are utterly out of supplies. It's a decent remedy for a cold, too.

"Hello? Um... Bern?" On the other end of the line, Holly frowns. Pulling the phone away from his ear, he looks at the screen. Call's still running. Huh. Odd. His mind wanders back to that time. The whole thing was insane. He still remembers visiting the kid in Yao's mansion, practically sealed off from the world because they all knew Mattias was looking for him. They moved him to the Vargas brothers eventually, and Holly kept visiting then, watching him get stronger, get to know the boys, endear himself to them the way he did everyone else.

With a deep breath, Berwald picks up his phone. It's an effort to keep his voice steady. "I have t'go now. ...thanks. I'll...later. Later, if something comes up."

"You okay?" The doctor's voice doesn't sound right. He's not steady. Shit, what the hell is going on over there? "Bernie?"

"It's _fine_ Holly!" He doesn't know why he's shouting. That was the past, not the present. Damage done. All that's left is picking up the pieces, putting things back together. Isn't that what he's always done? His fingers tug at a dark stain on the grey hall carpet. Peter spilled grape juice there. He'd been angry, locked him in his room. How stupid. The carpet never mattered at all. None of the petty things matter. People do. He has to do something. Tell Tino it's okay. But how is that going to sound coming from him, when he's the one who cannot keep it together? "M'fine. G'night, Holly."

"Yeah. Night." He hangs up, still worried. He's never heard Bernie yell, not once. He'll visit tomorrow. Maybe the doctor can help him figure out why he can't seem to sleep anymore.

Berwald shuts the phone, and then takes another minute to sit and stare at it. There are so many things going through his head, he can't keep track of them. He can _see_ it, see Tino alone and hurt and _terrified_ of that monster. He presses his forehead against the wall, trying to make things slow down, to remember where he is. There's a touch on his shoulder, a little hand. He whips around, and for a split second he sees that bright smile, the blue eyes wide, wondering what daddy is doing on the floor. He reaches for him. "Pete..."

There's nothing there. Never was. Of course not. His son is dead, and Tino is downstairs, healthy. He forces himself to stand, and after a brief trip to the bathroom to throw water on his face, he heads back to the kitchen.

The tea's been sitting on the counter for twenty minutes now, growing cold. Tino is just about to nuke it when he hears Bernie's steps on the stairs. Sipping his own, he grabs a ginger snap from the box he has open. He really needs to stop eating them. "Any news?"

"News?" Does he sound normal? Bernie can't tell. Everyone else tells him his voice never changes, but he hears every inflection. Tino looks just fine, munching on ginger snaps and sipping tea.

But Bernie's voice does sound funny, and Tino can hear it. He frowns, looking up and taking a serious gauge of his face. "Holly. Did he give you anything?"

Holly gives many people a lot of things. Yet for some reason, the one time Berwald actually tried to buy something from him all those years ago, Holly took a good look at the drunk and walked out. He owes him for that one. But that's not what Tino means. Ah. Their patients. He'd forgotten. "Yeah. Somebody he doesn't know. S'gonna try t'take care of it."

Tino continues to frown, checking him out. There's something wrong with his eyes. They're creased, like he's trying to look calm. "That's good." He looks back down at his cookies, chalking it up to another one of Bernie's many mysteries. "Your tea's cold."

Berwald can't help it. He grabs Tino and pulls him close, hugging him as he has never done before. "Y're...important t'me."

Tino's breath hitches at the sudden pull. He's in his arms, surrounded by him, breathing him in like fresh, sweet air. God, it's like coming home. But it's not. It's not, because _they're_ not. He pats his back, blushing heavily, and slowly steps out of his arms. "You're important to me." He laughs a little, looking away. "Didn't we have this conversation?"

Bernie nods, not trusting himself to speak. He can't think of anything else to do right now. They'll figure things out, together this time. It's worth a bit of a smile.


	16. Ch 15: Like Red Wine

Guess what lovelies? It's PandaG's Birthday! And here's a present for you - a new chapter, with the return of Francis!

Please note - we try to get these chapters up as fast as we can, but we're working adults (or so they tell us) and there are two of us, so it takes time for us to both edit each chapter. Have no fear, however: we're on it! We've already started to edit part 2.

**Chapter Summary**: Antonio reveals the fate of the man who hurt Francis.

Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia.

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Chapter 15: Like Red Wine

The afternoon is a lovely one. Not too hot, not too cold, with a hint of breeze from just the right direction to take the stench of the city away. Because of his (forcibly) lightened schedule, Francis even has the time to enjoy it, sitting on the balcony of his room. He sighs with contentment; there's something pleasant about the simplicity of enjoying a glass of wine _without_ company. It's easy to feel good, even though there are days and long, dark nights when he feels sick enough to give into the temptation to call Holly. But he won't. He promised Kiku that enough was enough, and the man has put enough effort into helping him through the withdrawal. Heaven knows the drugs have gotten him into enough trouble already; he's got his wrist in a sling to remind him of that much. A shiver creeps up his spine, like big, rough hands reaching for his neck. Suddenly the afternoon isn't so pleasant, and his good hand is subconsciously reaching above his collar to trace the ugly line across the skin. He slaps his hand back to the table.

The door to Frannie's room is open, and Antonio peers inside. He's come by with lilies - Francis' favorite, though he'd have everyone think it was roses for the sheer expense. After last night... he needed to see him. Tell him everything was okay. There he is, beautiful in the sunlight, drinking wine on the balcony. Classy. He knocks on the doorframe, calling his attention.

Francis jumps, startled by the noise; he wasn't expecting company. But it's his beloved Antonio, and he is instantly smiling again. "Toni!" He leaps to his feet, coming to kiss him in the doorway. "Come in! Would you like some wine?"

Toni grins, enjoying his pleasant armful of Francis for a long, easy moment. "Love would be the word." For the wine. For everything, really. Reaching up, he tucks a long blonde wave behind Francis' ear and offers him the lilies. "You're looking good today, gorgeous."

Frannie's smile goes wider, honestly flattered. Not so much by the compliment, which are literally a dime a dozen, but the lilies. Toni remembers these little things, treats him like gold whenever they're together. He takes the flowers, letting their sweet scent fill his afternoon with happiness once more. Then he kisses Toni again and leads him to the balcony. "As are you, mon cher Espagnol." He gestures to a seat while he puts the flowers in a vase - he has a great number of them, flowers and vases both - and retrieves a second glass. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

Oh man. This is definitely the sort of conversation you should ease into. "Wine first." Toni drops into the seat across the table and lets a grin slide over his features. Francis has such a pretty smile when he's smiling for real. "How're tricks?"

Francis laughs, gesturing to the broken wrist. "Not as good as they could be, but not terrible. You know I am quite creative!" He winks, pouring the wine for his lover before refilling his own glass. Business is truly not as bad as it could be. He's found there are a great many who simply fall over themselves to play the hero, the doctor, the _whatever_ if he pouts the right way and allows himself to look particularly pitiful. It makes Kiku roll his eyes, but he's only jealous. "How's your little Italian charge?"

Toni smirks a little, almost wishing he could cackle. "Amusing. He's so jealous and he hates to admit it. But then again, I mean, look at me. Who wouldn't get possessive?" He grins, sipping his wine and leaning over the table to tap his chin. "You're gonna have to show me some of that creativity later. You got any free time tonight?"

A tongue darts out to lick the finger on Francis' chin, sucking it into his mouth before Toni can draw it away. He very much enjoys spending time with Toni, no matter what they're doing. However, he is particularly fond of watching him squirm when he _knows_ there's no relief coming. He lets go and sips his wine as though nothing unusual just occurred.

"I will make time just for you, oui? Unless mes anges appear! Then you must forgive me, I have to see them again!" Francis sighs, eyes going far away. He's been keeping an eye out for the pair since Arthur told him who they were. They haven't crossed his path yet, but he will bribe Artie into _making_ them if he has to.

Toni rolls his eyes, trying to temper his jealousy with more wine. These "anges" have been all Francis ever thinks about these days. He's at the point where he wants to find them himself. Still, he's with Francis, and he loves it when the man is being a tease. He lets his wet finger trail down his neck, stopping at his collarbone. Maybe when he gives him the news, he'll have his undivided attention.

He swallows his wine and drops back into his chair. "So, I came here because I wanted to let you know about... the guy. Who..." He waves a hand to the sling, not wanting to say it.

Francis stiffens instantly, the memory hitting him hard enough that he spills red wine on the table. "Merde," he curses, getting up for a napkin. He doesn't want Toni to see how much it bothers him. It was weeks ago now. He's...it shouldn't bother him so much. Worse things have happened.

"Frannie-" Reaching out, Toni rests a hand on his thigh, firm and grounding, trying to pull him back to the here and now. He needs to give Francis closure, let him know. Maybe now the love of his life can find some peace in this mess. "I took care of it."

That catches his attention. Took care of it? When Antonio takes care of things, they are permanently finished. Sometimes there's a mess left over, but Ludwig or...well, it used to always be Gilbert, makes sure it disappears. He studies Toni's face, and knows he's serious. "You killed him."

Toni's jaw sets and his hand slips away. He doesn't even have to nod. Francis is smart; he knows he can't say it, not here. Not ever, really. It's the kind of thing you go to your grave with. "Anyway." He pours himself another glass of wine. "It's done."

Francis isn't sure how to react. The man who has haunted his thoughts, with those big hands and mean eyes and the heavy stench of sweat, is dead. Now he can't come back for him, can't wrap those hands around his neck again and take away his breath. Maybe now he'll get some sleep. Real sleep. Sleep that doesn't end in Toni or Kiku waking him because he is crying, or worse: waking to nothing but the eyes in the dark. Yes. He's glad the man is dead.

Forgetting the wine, he stands, taking Toni's hand and wrapping the man's arms around him. He breathes him in, smelling cologne and wine instead of sweat and sex. Safe. He's never felt anything but safe when Toni's there, even when he's in a temper and yelling, waving his gun around. Toni has never, _would _never hurt him. "Come sit with me for a while." He cannot thank Toni for a murder, but he can take him to bed. Not for sex, not this time. Just a moment to hold on to one another.

"Long as you like," Toni replies. He holds him as tight as he always does; tighter now, because he can, because they both need the closeness. The way their bodies hold close, it's so right. So perfect. How can Francis not know that they are meant to have each other? He will wait for him to see, be patient, let him come to grips with everything else.

Slowly, Toni leads him to the bed, lets him lay down and falls in next to him, pulling him close. His arms wrap around his waist and his chin presses into his shoulder. "I'll always protect you, Frannie."

"I know. And I will be here for you, always." Francis rests his head on the Spaniard's chest, his bad wrist carefully supported between them and the good one resting on his arm. They kiss slowly, the act lingering but nearly chaste. Everything will be alright. They have each other, along with all the other pretty things who weave into their lives. "Mon amour."


	17. Ch 16: The Gentleman

Hello lovelies! We hope all is well for you. Thank you for the reviews! If there's anything you'd like to ask/see us draw, please do let us know so we can start on that for you.

**Chapter Summary:** Vosh stakes out La Citta in an effort to learn more about the Beilschmidts. While fending off the advances of Francis and Kiku, he encounters the Beilschmidts' cousin, Roderick.

Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia.

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Chapter 16: The Gentleman

La Citta is packed, as it is every time Roderick Edelstein plays. Women and men alike come to listen and drink, and no one ever leaves alone. That is mostly the brothel's doing; when Roderick plays the whores gather at the bar and offer special rates, since they know the piano man can get them out of trouble.

Tonight, however, strange things are happening. There is a man chatting up the whole damn bar as though it is an information desk. Roderick watches, cool eyes following the man and smirking as he realizes what the problem is. There is a cop in their midst.

Vosh is the chief of police. Undercover work is _not_ his thing. Never was, not even in his rookie days. He's too straight forward for all that nonsense, so he does not bother to hide his identity. He isn't here to play their games; he's here to distract them from the ones who really are undercover. Besides, sometimes a known cop can get better answers than one posing as a civilian. So he makes them uncomfortable? All the better. "Is this place always so full on a Wednesday night? Every night? Or is it a special occasion?"

"It's always full," says the handsome prostitute. His eyes dart to the bar and he moves down a seat to try attracting the attention of the man sitting on the next stool. He is _not_ talking to the chief. The man is a lost cause; more likely to take him to jail than to bed.

Vosh hates places like this. It's too noisy, even if the music isn't half bad. The smoke, the close bodies, the stress...his head is pounding. Again. One of these days he's going to have an aneurysm if he doesn't get himself killed by waltzing into Beilschmidt's territory first. However, there is no sign of Ludwig or his Italian puppies. Yet.

"Was the late Mr. Beilschmidt here the night he died?" he asks the bartender. "Gilbert Beilschmidt, I mean, not the grandfather." It's hardly a question worth asking; Gilbert owned the place, and everyone knows the man enjoyed his beer more than life itself. Vosh bets there's no beer in hell. Still, he wants to make it look like the cops are even farther behind than they really are, and one answer might lead to another.

The bartender looks up, then looks down, pulling a glass from the shelves beneath the bar. "Will that be water for you, sir?"

Vosh glares. He has a bottle of water with him, free from home. Why would he pay for water? "No, thank you. But I believe I just asked you a question. Nicely. I can ask a different way, or in a different setting, if you're disinclined to answer here."

The bartender looks down again, nervous. He doesn't like cops. No one here does. "Yeah. He was here with Toni. Like always." He shuffles to the next customer, resolving to ignore the cop until he goes away.

Still watching from the piano, Roderick almost feels bad for him – but not quite. Not the way he looks right now: glaring at the world, ready to snap like an angry cobra. The chief has lovely green eyes, but they're very unhappy right now. Roddy leans over, continuing his song one-handed as he speaks to the garcon, sending him a glass of sweet, heavy-tongued wine.

In another corner of the casino's bar, Francis saunters over to Kiku, smiling at the gentlemen and ladies he passes. A few look his way, unable to help it, but as soon as they remember the cop in the background they go back to staring at their drinks and their cards, or the girls dancing on stage to Roddy's music. He takes a seat right next to Kiku, who is not getting any more bites than he is. That's very strange; what's bad business for them is _terrible_ business for some of their friends, the difference between eating, shelter, and drugs. The drugs always win. He leans in close, kissing Kiku's ear and running long fingers over whatever skin he can find. "Mon ami, we must get rid of the policeman. Not just a policeman, but the chief! He must leave or we will all be that bitter at the end of the night."

Kiku almost purrs under Francis' touch, so pleased that _he's_ touching him, and not simply because no one else is. Inclining his neck to let him taste the skin there, he crosses one of his legs over Frannie's. "I see. This is most definitely troublesome." He lets his half-lidded gaze follow the waiter as he places a glass in front of the chief, speaking to him in a low hum. Probably asking him very politely to take that drink somewhere else. Kiku sighs softly, moving his hand to press Francis' legs open and run his nails up his thigh. His eyes slide to the mirror above the bar, seeking to meet the chief's. "Hmm... Let's get him over here, shall we?"

Francis chuckles, shifting into the touch. He nibbles at his jaw, careful not to leave any marks - customers like Kiku's smooth skin and how easily it bruises. He's lucky they fade just as quickly. "I will bet you thirty dollars that man is straight as they come. Sesel or Liza will have better luck."

Kiku smiles easily and turns to meet his eyes, if only to get those teeth off his skin. Any more of that and he'll have an ache that he'll have to hold Francis to. "Sesel and Liza have tried. Separately and together. It was a pretty sight, but they were left cold." He leans up and runs his tongue over the shell of Frannie's ear. "You will have to comfort them later. Only you can repair their bruised egos, you know."

"Learn to say "Vous êtes la plus belle femme du monde" or "Je vous veux toujours," and it is easy. Best to say them with your mouth against their lips - and I mean either set." He grins, looking into the mirror as he whispers to Kiku, hoping to catch Vosh's attention. The chief is oblivious. Of course. He sighs, pressing a last kiss to Kiku's shoulder. "We will have to try a more direct approach." [1, 2]

Kiku sighs with him, tugging Francis' hair and dragging him down for another kiss just _there_, a sweet-spot that is never teased enough. How the man constantly knows where to tease still eludes him. "Fine, fine." Smirking just a little, he pulls the man's chin back up. "If one of us is taken without the other, rendezvous at yours at, say, three?"

"Eliza is beginning to think we are lovers. It is driving her to distraction, you know. She thinks we will leave. Let us give her some peace, non?" It is his turn to pull on Kiku's hair, just before standing. "And I have rendezvous already." He always looks forward to meetings with Antonio, tonight especially. He has not yet recovered from the words they shared in the afternoon, and his feelings for the man are near to overwhelming. He promised Toni a special night, and a special night they shall have.

Kiku almost pouts. Almost. Of course they're not lovers. They can't be - they would kill each other. Besides, Francis has his Antonio, and he... He has his job. With a soft sigh, he rises to his feet and heads to the bar, leaning on the chair to the chief's left as Francis takes his right. "Good evening for a drink, isn't it?"

The drink was free from the piano player. A bribe to make Vosh leave, but that's not going to affect him. He'll take the free alcohol and ignore the request that goes with it. He has already had no less than five propositions and eight death threats. They are easy enough to ignore; nothing unexpected around here. At least he recognizes Francis and Kiku, and that means he knows how to handle them. He saw them less than a month ago when they were questioning everyone involved with the case. Both were distraught, and he's quite sure Francis was high out of his mind. Perhaps they'll be more helpful now, when they want something from him.

"Yes," he answers at last.

Kiku leans over, smiling slightly and offering him a demure look. "Perhaps you would like to enjoy one with me on the patio? That particular red looks like it needs a breath of fresh air."

Francis slides his good hand down the chief's spine, just enough for him to feel it. "Enjoy it with both of us. We can be very entertaining." The hand wanders to Kiku, running over his chest in a way that forces him to lean in closer to their prey. Mm. He smells...clean. That's different, at least in this place where their customers smell like sweat or perfume and cologne.

Vosh hunkers down in his chair, just out of their reach. He won't get anything useful from them now. They're working. They're very good at it, he must admit, because he's flushed from the barest of suggestions. However, he's made a career of keeping a firm hold of his reactions. "A nice invitation, but I'm not interested."

What? _What_? No - this isn't happening. Kiku is _nothing_ if not persistent. "Inspector, I am not always shy, as you know. So I will come out and say this." He lets his hand fall to the chief's side, caressing, moving it down to his hip where he lets it stay. "I would like to see you naked. Very badly. So. What will convince you to leave with me? Us?"

At that Vosh does blush. It's been a long time since anyone has seen him naked. He's just...he doesn't have time for relationships, and there's a proper order to things. He wouldn't just have sex for the sake of it! _Especially_ not if it involved wasting money. "Please remove your hands from my person. Both of you."

Impossible! _Everyone_ likes Francis' hands, and he was even massaging the chief's shoulder! He figured the man would at _least_ appreciate that much. Perhaps they need to be more subtle? He didn't say no, exactly. "Ah, we can be _very_ discreet if you like. Meet you later, somewhere quiet? We know plenty of places where we will go unnoticed. Our lips are...sealed, so to speak."

Not fair. And _not_ funny. Kiku slides his hands away, leaning on the bar and affecting a look that displays just how offended he is. "Or you can continue to sit here trying to make friends with people who don't want to talk to you."

Vosh raises his eyes, looking at them both but trying very hard not to really _look_ at them. He knows they're pretty, and right now they are showing it off. Still, there are principles he stands by, and he is a man of honor. "Did you want to talk? I am sure I can think of a few more questions for both of you, considering the fact that it is your lovers who are dead. Rather suspicious." He knows he's struck a nerve, but it will be interesting to see what happens next. Kiku has a solid alibi in a customer. Francis does not.

Kiku gasps, so angry that he does not know how to speak. Just barely able to cover it, he turns away completely, squaring his jaw and remaining silent. They _must_ get this man out of the bar. But he can't even look at him right now without wanting to splash that drink in his face.

Francis comes close to decking the man, but he's only got one good arm and he doesn't want to chance breaking it on a face that never even cracks a smile. His demeanor instantly cools. "If you are here to make accusations, chief, make them. I assure you I can work just as well in handcuffs. I believe I have a few of your officers to thank for that, non?"

Vosh tightens his jaw. He knows very well his staff is compromised. But that is another matter, one to take up with the state. Again. "Then go bother them. I do not want what you're selling. Though rest assured, we will be talking again."

"Oh, I look _forward_ to it." Kiku slaps his hand to the bar, pushing off and leaving the lounge entirely. He's not in the mood for anything now. Since Hera died there has been a hole in his heart. It's not filling, it's not healing. It's gaping so wide that it feels like the wind could sail right through it. He moves past every john trying to catch his eye, not even letting Francis catch up.

"Kiku!" Francis tries to grab him, but it's too late. He's already gone. "Now you've done it, bastard," he growls under his breath, moving away in turn. He'll have to check up on Kiku later, or find someone else to do so. Kiku went to ask for _Yao's_ help; that in itself is an indication that something is very, very wrong. The worst part is there is nothing he can do about it. Even if Yao finds the killer, no one can bring Heracles back from the dead.

The commotion has not gone unnoticed and Roderick smiles sadly, shaking his head at the sight. Those two are still so deep in their mourning that they cannot see straight. It is a terrible thing to lose the one you love in any fashion, but death is the worst of them all. As he nears the end of his set, he tries to think of all the people he has been with, wondering if any of them has ever affected him so, brought such love into his heart. Well… Perhaps one. But if it was love, he'd never know. He doubts he'd even recognize love, considering his parents. Selfish, narcissistic people who flitted from lover to lover and barely seemed to realize they had a child - a brilliant, sensitive child.

Francis takes a seat next to Roderick as he begins one more song, trying not to sulk. Sulking is not sexy, and he should be looking for a customer or two. Or three, four; however many will fit. In his schedule. "When I find Kiku, he owes me thirty dollars. The chief is as straight as they come. No. Asexual! I have made straight men _beg_."

Roderick leans back a little, listening to Francis whine. Straight? His eyes shoot to the man again. "No, dear. Just choosy." He takes the song into its crescendo, melting into it himself, enjoying the way the music washes over him almost more than he does a good orgasm. Speaking of those, he is definitely in need of some stress relief. "Is it busy at the Rainbow? I could use a busy night."

Francis raises an eyebrow. "It will be, if we can get rid of _that_ one. If you want a room to work in, I am sure Liza will accommodate. Half the Rainbow is yours, after all." He knows this chord. There's a duet line, if he remembers; they've played it before. He sits up straighter, fingers ghosting over the keys until he's sure he remembers. Then they play together. Musicians are sexy, and he's sure to attract attention this way.

Ah, there. The warmth, the intimate touch. And music. All of his favorite sensations. Leaning against Francis' good arm, Roderick continues with him, letting him touch his precious keys as intimately as if he were removing his clothes. "I want to play with someone." _Someone who can turn me so inside out that I can't find my way right again. _That's not Francis. He's tried Francis, and as delightful as he was, he was still lacking.

Francis laughs. This is their type of making love; they've never quite clicked on the sex, but the music...oh yes. That is the way to seduce Roderick, and for Roderick to seduce everyone else. "You have the room in your palm, cheri. Take your pick. I will take the rest!"

Breathing out a laugh, Roddy lets the song crash into its finish, lacing one hand through Francis' to drag him into the final notes, letting him feel the music end with him, connect with it. God, that's sexy. Yes, he is in definite need of a busy night. "You know I will only pick a thoroughbred." His eyes shoot to the chief, moping over wine that he will not drink. "I will see what I can do about your chief. In exchange, ask Toni to send me a case of Hermano Sastre. I am desperately in need of good Spanish wine."

The notes carry through them, as good as any connection they've ever had. Francis laughs again, first for the joy of it and then at the ridiculousness of Roderick's statement. "Your bed will be very cold then! And you will have to pay _me_ for the wine; I am the one who will be convincing Toni to part with it, non?"

"A challenge, is it?" He turns on his stool, tipping his chin up because he knows Francis is touch-driven, and he has a feeling the man is about to take liberties. "Fair. If I do not succeed, have Liza give you my gold card for a day. Though I dread what you may do with it."

Francis nearly claps his hands. This is turning out to be a rather good night after all. "Oh my dear, dread not! It will not be nearly so nasty as the things I could do with _you_."

Roderick smirks softly, sliding from his bench. "That does not comfort me." Unbuttoning his tails, he leaves them on the bench and moves to the bar, attracting the tender's attention immediately, as he always does. He is often treated as good as his cousins here. "Chardonnay, please."

The presence of the pianist seems to put the rest of the bar at ease, and several patrons dare to edge closer to Vosh himself; likely because their idol is right next to him. He ignores the man, even as he tries to recall what he knows of him. Edelstein...something Edelstein. The casino's leading musician, a cousin of the Beilschmidts. Also a part-time prostitute, but it is said he engages in such pursuits with the same class he employs in everything else. He has no _apparent_ involvement with his friends' low-brow pursuits, though he was a witness to an argument between the Beilschmidt brothers on the night Gilbert died. It is a sadly lacking report, in Vosh's opinion. But he is sadly lacking officers to conduct such detailed interviews.

The man is observing Roderick closely, taking in his best features - as most men do. He is certainly a thoroughbred himself; his parents were nothing if not blue-blooded. The chief must know that, among other things. He does not need to speak to him yet. The man will not respond well to the persistent approach others have tried and failed tonight. The glass is set before him, along with a plate of sliced fruit drizzled with honey.

Perhaps, Vosh thinks, he should try asking questions of this man who is so at ease by him. After all, if Roderick (_that _was the name!) knew Gilbert as well as it is said, he may be able to tell him something about the casino's associates: someone bold enough to catch Bad-touch Gilbert off-guard, to shoot him point blank between the eyes. He must tread carefully though; this is real information, not simply a distraction that might lead to something. He hopes his officers are getting more than an earful of moans tonight.

It is taking so long for Vosh to speak that Roderick begins to get tense, and not simply because of the wait. The man's stare is low and cool and sexy. The kind of stare that takes no prisoners. He takes a sip, then sets the glass down. "Are you going to stare at me until I finish my snack, sir, or are you going to speak?"

"I can wait." He has all night, after all. Tomorrow is his day off; he'll probably stop by the office anyway, as soon as his headache clears up enough for him to move.

Roderick raises an eyebrow, then slides his plate between them. "Then share. If you stare at me like that without doing anything else, the guards may think you're here to murder me."

"I believe the city council would fire me for that. Though with the way things are going, one never knows." He takes a slice of pear anyway. It's free food.

Roderick's lips quirk and he finds himself almost smiling. His fingers find their way to another slice and he bites in, tasting fresh, sweet fruit. He loves this place. Even this feels like an indulgence. "Was that a joke, sir, or a sad truth?"

More of the second, probably, though Vosh will not admit to it. Only his dear little sister hears the full of his troubles, and sometimes he feels badly for dumping so much on her. But she is all he has; the rest of his family is far away, and phone bills are so expensive. "It depends upon who is laughing."

"Isn't that just the way of things?" Especially for a whore. And a cop. The two jobs have far more in common than many would want to believe. Roderick finishes his half and takes another sip, dragging his finger through the honey on the plate. He will not lick it off. Something many of these whores don't realize is that it is sometimes better to let the mark's mind wallow on such things as _"He has honey on his finger."_ "I think you've spent a long night here being flashy and grumpy and brash. Must be a bit tiring."

Why is that honey so distracting? It makes the slight almost a compliment. Well. He can take care of that. Vosh grabs a napkin from the bar and hands it to the man with all the grace afforded a silk handkerchief. "That is why I drink coffee, not...this." He gestures to the alcohol.

Roderick looks down at the napkin, raising an eyebrow at it before pulling his finger from the pool of honey to the edge of the plate, creating a smear. "Coffee is delightful for the morning. But not at night." He does not touch the napkin, but moves his clean hand to sip the wine.

Vosh raises an eyebrow. He wants to ask how the man ever manages to keep up with a customer if he does not drink coffee at night, but he is not so crass. No, he is busy watching the honeyed finger, imagining that it must look similar in...God, what is wrong with him? All these thoughts are highly inappropriate. Perhaps he _is_ getting tired. "What is the time?"

Roderick smiles, looking down at his pocket watch; he bought it on a whim one day because he'd always wanted one and fourteen carat gold suits everything. "Half-past time for all the good boys to go to bed, I should think." He snaps it shut, finally taking the napkin and wiping the honey away, leaving just enough to make his nail shine. "Which means you are very much in need of that coffee."

It's strange, but this is the most interesting conversation Vosh has had in a long time. He hasn't learned very much, but this man is intelligent and witty without being terribly annoying. Worth a little trouble to continue talking. "Then let's get some coffee." He stands, leaving what can barely be considered a tip on the bar for causing trouble. "I'll have you know I mean actual coffee. Nothing else."

Roderick supplements the tip with a more generous bill, not even bothering to see what paltry sum Vosh would've left. It is said that the man never leaves more than two dollars. "And just what are you implying?" He says it as though the thought hadn't crossed his mind. However, with the way the rump in those work slacks moves, he's surprised he could think of anything else. The chief has a physique that should break hearts. "If you're going to be rude, I don't have to join you."

Vosh doesn't bother to turn around, observing the rest of the room as he passes with Mr. Edelstein in tow. There are sure to be rumors, and he intends to squash them with extreme prejudice. "I have been solicited no less than eight times tonight. I know you, too, sell sex. I am not interested in any of that. I would rather hear what you have to say about the late owner of this establishment. It would be nicer to talk over good coffee than over the shit they pass off as coffee down at the station."

Oh, look at him, getting all bothered, as though he's never been seen with a man! Roderick almost laughs as he slips past him and holds the door open. Instead he lets his face remain a soft, easy grin. "After you, dear." The world can think what they please. At this point, the only thing anyone knows is that they are leaving together. The rest will be woven in stories told all over town tonight, so that by morning it will be hard to escape them. He doesn't know why he's so excited. He should be frustrated, annoyed. And yet he isn't. Not at all.

Vosh glares and pushes past him, heading for his car. "Get in. We are _not_ staying around here."

Roderick laughs, waiting for Vosh to open the door for him. "Would you rather take me somewhere else and let everyone there gawk at you, having coffee with a whore?" He says the word with a bite, slightly annoyed that the man would imply it; even though he _is_. He knows the man does not want to be seduced. However, he's still a little frustrated that his mark seems to have some choice in the matter.

"I have coffee with plenty of interesting people, including musicians. They often end up in jail the next day. Sometimes dead. Would you rather stay behind than be seen having coffee with the chief of police?" Inexplicably, to himself, at least, he opens the passenger door for him and holds out his hand.

Roderick takes the hand, helping himself into the passenger seat and shutting the door as he thinks this over. He is in a car with the chief of police. This could either end well, or very badly. "I'd rather we stopped referring to one another in the context of our professions. Though you might find that a little difficult."

Vosh gets into the driver's seat, buckles himself in, and stares at his passenger until he does the same. It is only when they are both safely restrained that he even starts the car. "Your job and mine are the reason we are talking right now. I can hardly stop thinking of us in that light. If it makes you feel better, it is your position at La Citta that I am interested in."

Roderick laughs bitterly, his head falling back against the headrest, finally turning to look at him again. "You don't like us, do you? People who sell sex?" He smirks a little, reaching down to rest his honey-touched hand over the chief's as it shifts the car out of park. "Thinking about it makes you uncomfortable."

Vosh pulls his hand away, placing it firmly on the wheel as he drives. He's a cautious driver; his record is absolutely perfect, and he intends to keep it that way. The insurance is certainly cheaper. "I believe sex is a thing that should happen between two people who are prepared to commit to one another on a higher level. Perhaps not marriage, but certainly in a relationship they intend to continue." Why is he even talking about this? He is the one who is supposed to be asking questions. And yet he continues, "There's an order to things, an order to romantic endeavors."

"Ah, a gentleman." Roddy smiles, placing his hands in his lap again and trying to remember the last time he encountered one of those. Never? Probably. The one he'd known before had been far from gentle in the end. It feels strange, being in the presence of a man who truly believes sex should be enjoyed only by lovers. "You must think very little of me."

Vosh does not take his eyes off the road. It is dark, and he must be aware. There are always fools around this area at night. "I judge people for their choices when they are crimes. Prostitution is illegal, but as I am sure you are aware, we have larger problems. When those are solved, make no mistake that you will be arrested if you persist in disobeying the law. However," he checks his mirrors, then looks back to the road, "a person is more complex than their choices alone."

Roderick turns away, silent, staring out the window as he thinks on it. Of course. A person is always more complex than their choices. He isn't very fond of all of his own - the ones before he met Liza, for instance - but he likes to think he is more than what most people see. He chances a glance toward the chief, wondering about his choices, what led him to be what he is in this moment. But meeting his eyes in that mirror makes his breath catch. His eyes are magnificent. God, what just hit him? He turns away again, pressing his lips together and trying to slow his beating heart.

* * *

1 - You are the most beautiful woman in the world

2 - I want you always


	18. Ch 17: What I Learned In School

Just ONE CHAPTER LEFT until the end of _Ghost_! Don't worry, the story of _Monsters_ is far from over. No one has even died since the prologue, and we can't have that! There is plenty of mayhem and murder to come in **_Devil_, Part 2 of the Monsterverse**.

In other news, we have **new art** on tumblr! It's completely unrelated to _Monsters_, but it involves NSFW Hetalia, and who doesn't want to see Prussia all tied up?

**Chapter Summary:** After school, Raivis meets with Kaoru and Eduard meets with Emil to talk about home, family, and what the future may hold - or if there is a future at all for them.

* * *

Chapter 17: What I Learned In School

They haven't spoken to each other for a full two days, and Eduard is starting to get worried. Well, angry and worried; he's still annoyed with Raivis, but it's turned more towards sadness. He misses him, misses being his friend. His brother. He's asked Emil to meet him after class, hoping for some advice. But as he heads for their usual meeting spot, he sees Raivis at his locker.

To make matters worse, the minute he gets close the one textbook that wouldn't fit in his bag finally manages to slip from his fingers and land with a loud THWACK on the floor, right next to Raivis. The boy jolts at the sound, whipping around to find Eduard staring at the floor. Sighing to himself, Raivis picks up the textbook and holds it out; it's got to rate as one of their stranger peace offerings. "Hey."

For a moment, Eddie forgets that he's supposed to take the book. Raivis gives him a look, and he blushes, pulling it back into his arms like a lost child. "Hey."

"Advanced calc? I thought that was on Wednesdays?" Raivis asks softly, not sure he wants to have a conversation with him at all right now, except... well. He can never stay too angry with him.

"Oh, it is. But Nick needed help with some of the problems and I offered to meet him over lunch today. We've got a major exam coming up. It's like practice for the APs, and Nick really wants to do well on those. I think it's got something to do with his brother because he never cared that much before, and..." And he's babbling. Badly. Eduard shuts his mouth. It's just _really_ nice to have a conversation with Raivis that doesn't involve yelling or stupid Kaoru. He can't deny that he's taken a great deal of pleasure in seeing the bad boy's nose all bandaged up, looking dumb instead of tough.

Raivis grins a little wider, watching him babble, wondering if Eddie knows that it makes his heart beat faster. Just seeing him flustered is enough to make him flustered too. "You're a good tutor." He smiles, tucking some books into his backpack. "I should know."

Eduard smiles back; thank God they're alright again. The tension has been so bad lately it's made it difficult to go home. "Yeah. How're classes going, by the way? I haven't heard about them in a while. You like your teachers?"

"They're okay. You were right, though. Mr. Jenkins is a real tool." He bends over again, taking out the books he won't need for tonight to make room for the ones he will. "He keeps nitpicking my grammar. I'm like, "Dude, you're a history teacher. Grade the content, will you?""

Eddie chuckles. "I do remember that. Glad I don't have him again! Emil does, and he said it doesn't get any better with...Oh!" He'd almost forgotten where he was heading. "Raiv, hey, I'll see you when we get picked up, right? I told Emi I'd meet him after class."

Right. Fuck. There go all the nice, fuzzy feelings he just had. Raivis sneers, unable to help himself, and throws his backpack over his shoulder. "Right. I forgot. Ancient History's your favorite subject. Just keeps repeating itself." _'Ancient History'._ _Fucking Emil._ Rolling his eyes, he goes to slam his locker door and winds up spilling his entire bag on the floor. "Shit!" he curses, dropping to his knees to gather it all.

Everything pops like a balloon, and Eddie doesn't understand it. He's not the one who spent so many nights keeping Raivis awake while he slept with some junior dealer! It's not fair for him to get upset. Even if he _was_ seeing Emil romantically again, why should it matter to Raivis? He drops down anyway, helping him pick things up. "Why does it piss you off so much? I'm allowed to have friends, aren't I?"

Raivis yanks his stuff from Eddie's hands and shoves it in his bag, not looking at him. "Sure. Everybody's entitled to their "friends". I'm just overstepping my boundaries, as fucking usual."

Eduard reels back at the venom in his voice, then stands up, hefting the book in his arms. "Whatever. I'll see you later. Ivan's picking us up today, so don't be late, yeah?"

"_Whatever_," Raivis repeats. He slings his backpack over his shoulder again and heads out the door. Kaoru wants him out front for something. That should take his mind off fucking Eddie and Emil.

Kaoru is waiting in his car when Raivis gets outside. The first thing he does after sliding in next to him is touch his face, trying to see the bandaged nose. It looks bad. Kaoru is annoyed enough already, however, and pushes his hand away.

"Fuck, stop it-! It stings!" He pushes Raivis again, letting his head fall back to stare at the ceiling of the car, wondering why he even bothers. Raivis isn't so much. He's cute, yeah, but there are cute things everywhere, and plenty of them come without psycho family baggage. "Your fucking 'daddy' did this shit, if you didn't know. Hope you're happy."

"Jesus, why would I be happy?!" He throws his hands out in anger, peering over at him as though he's grown a couple of heads. "You're my boyfriend, I-" Kaoru rolls his eyes, and that makes his jaw set. Raivis scowls. "Okay. You know what? Fine."

Kaoru breathes out slowly, then reaches over to grab his sleeve and pull him close again. "Don't be a dick. C'mere." He leans over to kiss his lips, trying to ignore the pain in his nose. Raivis may have baggage and a near-impossible attitude, but he's kind of the best thing he's got going right now. "Sorry. I'm just pissed off. You okay?"

Raivis sinks into the kiss eagerly, happy to have it, to have someone who wants him enough to take him. God, Eddie kills his self-esteem. Breathing in slowly, he pulls back and rests his head on Kaoru's shoulder. "Yeah. It's been a rough day."

Kaoru snorts, rolling his eyes. Ninety percent of the time, 'rough day' is code for 'Eddie's such a jerk.' "Poindexter giving you a hard time?" He rests an arm around Raivis' shoulders and pulls him a little closer. "Fuck it. Just 'cause he thinks he has the right to scold you, doesn't mean he does. He just doesn't understand you, babe."

The more he listens to Kaoru, the more Raivis realizes he's talking out of his ass. Sometimes he wonders if Kaoru believes his own bullshit. Eddie _does _understand him. He's the only one who ever has. Raivis sighs, looking out the window at the ugly brown school. "Do you think we'll ever get out of the city?"

Kaoru frowns, looking down at him, confused. "Who would want to?"

"I dunno," he replies. It's all Eddie ever thinks about these days. It's all Eddie wants, except maybe Emil. He's in love with the idea of leaving - leaving Raivis. He thinks of his own future, of the possibility for something more than this. Raivis has dreams, too. He's always loved to draw. He used to make little cartoons when he was younger to keep himself from thinking about hunger, to make Eddie smile. He'll never get the chance to do more at this rate; Ivan's got their future planned. Hell, Eddie and Emil are practically married in Ivan's head. "Just wonder, sometimes."

Kaoru sighs, tousling Raivis' hair. "Stop being silly, Raiv. We'll be together for a long time."

More ass-talking. Raivis supposes Kaoru can't help it. Rolling his eyes, he remains silent and moves to cuddle close. This is the good thing about having a boyfriend; above all else, they're a great way to waste time.

XXX

Eduard finds Emil in their usual spot. It's one of the smaller classrooms with a crappy, ancient piano. That's pretty much all they have in the way of musical education. No one bothers to come in here; even the ones who can actually play don't want to use an instrument so out of tune. He sits next to Emil on the bench, putting his bag to the side and his book on top of the piano. "Hey."

"Hey." Emil is glad Eddie wanted to talk. It's a good excuse to miss the bus, and he doesn't want to go home. Mattias will be there today, sleeping off whatever shit he took last night. Maybe there will be time for Luk to go out and pick up some real groceries. Or better yet, a different boyfriend.

Eduard almost laughs, leaning back against the piano. "God, this is so fucked up."

"What happened?"

Eduard stares at the ceiling. There's some water stains that look like a world map. He tries to decide which countries they might be. There's a big splotch that looks like Russia, and those little Baltic countries next to it. Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania. He remembers their flags, their stories, because for some reason they feel familiar. He and Raivis were born in America (probably). He has no knowledge of any other background. Ivan probably knows. He calls them Russian, but Eddie knows they aren't, because once when Ivan was angry he slipped up and called them '_fake_ Russians,' 'disbanded Soviets.' It makes him wonder how Ivan knows even that much. He sighs and forces his mind back on the matter at hand. "Been fighting with Raivis. It's killing me, because we used to be _so close_. Now, it's like we can't talk for more than five minutes without one of us freaking out."

Emil considers this in silence. There's a difference between Raivis as he is now, and Raivis when they first met. He used to be this shy little kid, always with Eddie, dependent upon his brother. Eduard seemed to depend on him just as much. Later on it was a little hard to like Raivis when he kept following them, glaring at Emil when he was around. But he thinks he understands. He's a little brother too, after all, and he _hates_ Luk's boyfriend. Of course, he has good reason to, considering how Matt treats Lukas. He, on the other hand, would never hurt Eddie. He can't imagine...can't touch him, wouldn't dare to overstep the boundaries. He will not let them turn into monsters.

"It's probably your age," Emil finally says. That's a stupid, simple answer, but it's fair enough. "You both want freedom, but you don't want to let go of one another, either."

"That's true, but it's more than that. Something's really been bothering him, I think, but every time I try to ask he just shuts me out. All he does is go out with that fucker Kaoru, and he's way too young to be doing all the things I know they do!" He blushes a little at that, and Emil does too. Neither of them are particularly comfortable with sex.

"I don't think there's an age limit on that," Emi mutters, staring down at his knees.

"Yeah." Eddie looks down too. Their hands are right next to one another on the bench. If he shifted just a little he could squeeze Emil's, let him know that while it's not alright, he's not alone. Instead he checks his watch. Ivan will be around soon; he's usually early, and he expects the boys to be there on Ivan time. "I should head out."

Emil is disappointed because it means he'll make the next bus home, but he would never want to get Eddie in trouble with Ivan. The man is terrifying; all the more so because he seems to _like_ Emil. They both stand and make their way back through the halls.

XXX

Meanwhile, Raivis has been staring at the clock in the dash for the last ten minutes, ignoring everything out of Kaoru's mouth. Finally, the clock hits ten 'til, and he pushes away. "I've gotta go. Call you later?"

Kaoru frowns, but nods. "I'll drive you up."

"It's okay." He hops out, heading back toward the school. Ivan should be around front, acting like they've made him wait an eon. There he is, parked in his obscenely expensive car. Raivis waves to catch his attention.

Ivan scowls, about to lay into Raivis for sneaking off. Raivis _should_ be waiting in the school. Since he wasn't, that probably means he is still with that damn brat of Yao's. He's going to have to break Kaoru's whole face next time, because it's quite clear his warning did not get through the boy's thick skull. A glance back at the school instantly brightens his mood. Eduard is coming, and Emil is with him! This is a good sign. They're talking, walking together. Perhaps they've had a liaison of sorts? No, they haven't. Eduard isn't blushing, and that's a dead giveaway for him. Still, Emil looks reluctant to leave. This is wonderful!

"Good afternoon Emil! You are staying late today?" Ivan calls out with a grin, leaning out of his window.

"Um...homework," Emil replies. Somehow the Russian's grin isn't so scary anymore, not when he has Mattias at home, getting worse every day. Ivan's never laid a hand on Eddie or Raivis.

"Good, good," says Ivan. "You and my Eduard are such smart boys. Is good to see you together again - studying, I mean." That is not what he means at all. He's surprised Emil hasn't already dashed off. That he is staying must mean he really does want to spend time with Eduard. He can help. He likes to help his sons succeed, so long as their successes fit into his plans. "Eduard, invite Emil to our house for dinner. It will be good to have him; big dinner tonight, everyone will be there! Toris too. Have you met Toris, Emil? He is my new assistant."

Now Eduard blushes, trying to mouth subtle apologies to his friend. There's really no declining when Ivan puts out an invitation like that. "Would you, ah, like to come over? We can do homework, and, uh, play video games?"

_'And uh, play video games.'_ Raivis mentally imitates him. He slides into the front passenger seat, refusing to sit anywhere near Emil. He should've just stayed with Kaoru, gone home with him. Yao doesn't mind him so much. In fact, Yao seems pretty okay with him when he's there.

Well, Emil _was_ looking for a reason not to be at home. This is probably as good as it's going to get, and he has kind of missed spending time with Eddie. There's a stab of guilt when he remembers that he'll be leaving Lukas alone to deal with Matt, but he shoves it aside angrily. It's Luk's fault Matt is living in their apartment in the first place; he can deal with the bastard. "Okay."

"Good! I will help your Aunt Kat to cook, and there will be plenty of food. Vodka too. Get in." As soon as the two boys are in his backseat and buckled up, Ivan locks the doors and pulls away, whistling to himself. This will be a very good night indeed – so long as the passenger in his trunk remains unconscious.


End file.
